Bloodsport

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40008435.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: One Direction (Band)
Relationship: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Character: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Anne Twist, Des Styles,
Gemma Styles, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Original Male Character(s),
Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Mortal enemies with benefits, Love/Hate, Angst and
Feels, Smut, Football | Soccer, Coming Out, Family Issues, References
to Drugs, Pining, Idiots in Love
Language: English
Series: Part 2 of The Unbelievers Story
Stats: Published: 2022-07-01 Updated: 2022-08-31 Chapters: 17/? Words:
172653

Bloodsport
by isthatyoularry

Summary

How come falling in love with the person he hated most was so easy?

Who the hell did this guy think he was? How could he stand there on the pavement,
gorgeous and beautiful, and make Harry fall back into a swirl of desire, when fifteen
minutes ago he made his skin prickle with hurt? God, he hated him. He wanted to bash his
face into bits. The problem was that more than that, he wanted to kiss him. Between the two
options, he would instantaneously choose the second.

A mortal enemies with benefits story with a touch of football, lust, and family drama.

The Unbelievers Story from Harry's point of view.

Notes

Happy 7 years to Unbelievers! Starting this made me finally get back into writing after a
long time. It's been both therapeutic and exciting, but it wouldn't have happened without
everyone cheering this project on! Thank you for your constant love. I hope you'll like this
version of Unbelievers, and have open minds and remember that this is just my idea about
Harry's life. If you imagined something different, that's fine! Let's have fun together <3

This story can definitely be read independently from Unbelievers if so wished, no prior
"unbelievers knowledge" required <3
 My Bloodsport Playlist

Disclaimer: None of this is real. Nothing in this is meant to imply anything, nor does this
reflect my personal beliefs about anything or anyone. This is fiction.

See the end of the work for more notes

 Prologue

Thank you.

Was that the right response?

Thank you very much.

It was clearly a compliment. The opposite would be devastating and awkward. Very much not a
compliment.

But what should you have answered when someone just said, “Fuck, you’re tight”?

Oh. Why, thank you. Thank you very much. How nice to hear.

It wasn’t like Harry had planned to be there, at that moment. It’d just happened that he… happened
to be there.

What was the appropriate response? He didn’t know.

The natural thing, though, was to say something snarky. It was a reflex at that point. Louis
Tomlinson would spit something mean at him, and he would instinctively retort something just as
nasty.

So, when the person he despised the most in his life was on top of him, naked, and grunting, “Fuck,
you’re tight,” he responded with, “Really? I thought this would be easy, considering I’ve never
done this before. Fucking moron.”

He hated Louis; Louis hated him. So, why were they having sex on the floor in the locker room
after football training?

Well.
 Chapter 2

Doncaster wasn’t perfect. It was kind of ugly, as a matter of fact, with its boring English
townhouses in rows and rows within blocks, through and through. And where there weren’t
townhouses there were square houses with gable roofs, and they followed each other in squares
everywhere you went. Where there weren’t houses, there were chunks of green, randomly arranged
stretches of grass and bushes, strangely shaped parks and mottes. Indeed, there were nice things.
Like the cinema that premiered movies without delay, the pizza parlour that never missed, and the
town centre that provided enough city twist for Doncaster not to feel like a total dead corner of the
country.

Doncaster wasn’t perfect, but at the end of summer it was different. Some would even say it was a
pretty nice place to live. The trees were yet crowned by green and there were still flowers on front
lawns. The best thing about Doncaster at the end of summer was the way the grass on the football
pitch felt under fresh cleats.

Harry had known since he was six years old that he wanted to play football for the rest of his life.
His father had been relocated at work, and the family moved from Cheshire to Doncaster in his
early teenage years. Doncaster, because of its large school and football pitch, had only been to fall
in love with. The school had for a long time invested in football, and the boys’ team had a recent,
brief history of exceptional accomplishments. Harry’s earliest experience in Donny had been a blur
of longing and desire to be allowed to try out for the actual team. Certainly, younger grades had
their own provisional football teams, but it wasn’t serious enough for him. He had always wanted
the real thing: Premier and Champions League, FIFA World Cup, and wearing the famed words
Youth, Courage, Greatness across his shirt. Harry had done everything in his power to train as
much as he could, and to learn as much as possible. His father took him to Manchester to watch
United play at Old Trafford as a one-off Sunday activity, and he only dreamed he could one day
stand next to Sir Alex and share his victories. That was a long time ago now, but that same urge
and burn still sliced electrically through his limbs each time he placed a foot on a piece of grass.

It was the football pitch at school that Harry adored. During that time, at the start of the season, the
grass was at a perfected peak. It was soft and firm all at the same time, providing the perfect
surface to slide a football across and into the net of a goal. It wasn’t just the way it carried the ball;
it was the way it smelled, so crisp and fresh as it tore under cleats, knees and elbows. Late summer
nights under the lowering orange sun, inhaling an easy breath and sinking a football into the deep
end of a net, was the epitome of immaculacy.

Surprisingly, when he finally tried out for the football team it was easier than expected. Harry had
breezed through the exercises with the older lads, swiftly falling in love with the earnest
atmosphere and passion of the group of boys around him. And of course, during the try-outs, he
had noticed him. How could he not have? There was a boy. He was fast and he was skilled. He was
a bit rough around the edges. His feet were quicker than raindrops on windshields during sky fall,
and he seemed to make precision an art. It was the boy with the fringe and the blue eyes. He
looked like he’d been born with a football on his toes, and for a minute there Harry had been
excited. A boy in his grade with seemingly the same passion and eagerness. Playing with someone
like him could make for a beautiful future. It was simply such a shame that the bloke was a true,
new brand of freaking idiocy incarnate.

Louis Tomlinson. That was his name.

“I’m Louis,” he had said during the first real training with the team. His face was tan from
summer, and his eyes were blue. Harry had seen him briefly in English class, but never actually
spoken to him.

“Harry,” he exhaled. The team was gathered in a half-circle on the pitch. The water case was in the
middle, their names written on each of the bottles. Louis reached for his, and his eyes lingered on
the case for a moment before he grasped Harry’s, too.

“Here. Yours.”

“Thanks.”

Louis touched him. It was just an accidental brush of tan fingers against the milky skin of Harry’s
arm as he received the bottle. However, Harry was fifteen and had hit puberty a couple of years
earlier. He had been sexually aware for long enough to notice that his body reacted when people he
liked touched him. He was also aware of his body enough to notice that when Louis touched him,
he felt something different. Something that made his mouth feel dry, and made his stomach flutter
with nervous butterflies. It was also something that made his fifteen-year-old mind think about
how many times he’d jerked off to whatever he found on the Internet, and how good it would feel
to do just that as soon as he got home.

It wasn’t Louis that made him feel it, though — it couldn’t be. He was just fifteen and horny all the
time.

Louis had grinned at him, eyes blue and bright under hooded lids. His smile was boyish and happy,
light-hearted. He had dark caramel hair that sat in a fringe across his forehead and poked into his
eyes. Harry had smiled back, pulling his arms behind his back but still able to feel the touch of
Louis’ fingers there. He’d liked the touch. He knew that for certain.

“What position do you play?” asked Louis.

“Uh. Striker. I think.”

“Cool. Midfield.”

“Cool.” He swallowed, unable to drag his eyes off his impish grin. Searching for things to say, he
asked, “What’s your jersey number?”

“Seventeen.”

Oh. That was Harry’s number. He’d always wanted that jersey, and he’d already asked their coach
if he could have it.

It wasn’t much later that Coach Abrahams called for their attention. At the end of practice, it was
time to give the players new training kits. The coach held out a red jersey, number seventeen
printed on the back, along with the surname “Styles”.

“Harry,” he said, and tossed the shirt at him. Harry caught it. As he did, he heard a low inhale of air
by his side.

“Traitor.” It was Louis. When Harry turned to face him, his eyes were wide and full of disbelief.

Harry, with cheeks as red as tomatoes, whispered, “Sorry,” completely unbeknownst to what future
awaited him from that moment on.

Because he had never before met someone who’d thrown a shoe at him for politely requesting a
jersey number. He had never been stabbed with a pencil in class because a year later that same
person still resented him for wearing that shirt. And he had never been tricked into eating a
birthday cake made from Crème Fraiche and shaving foam, thinking it was whipped cream, and
vomited because after three years that same dickface of a human being didn’t grasp how the word
“reasonable” could apply to life.

Harry had been right. That boy had been born with a football on his toes, but he’d also been born
with a ball behind his frontal cortex without space for much else. Louis Tomlinson was a world-
class bonehead.

Needless to say, Harry had been actively pushed into despising him from the first day of football
practice. Ever since then, it had been nag, nag, nag. Harry had tried to be the bigger person, but
there was only so much he could endure. Eleventh grade had brought their relationship to a boiling
point, and for the first time, Harry had physically retaliated against him. It hadn’t ended
particularly well for either of them academically, but at least Louis had realised Harry was no
longer going to stand by without a fight.

That fact hadn’t slowed Louis down, though. It made him sneakier, and his attempts to heckle
Harry more unpredictable. Harry had been relieved once the spring term of eleventh grade finished,
sending him off to a summer without the annoying, aggressive midfielder who couldn’t seem to
shut up on the football pitch for more than a second. He had looked forward to an easy summer of
light training and enjoying the sun at the backyard pool.

During summer, he spent most of his time with Zayn. Zayn was a quiet person, but his passions
brought out something energetic in his gestures and sparkles in his eyes. With him, Harry felt
perpetually at ease. Every day he still felt lucky that all those years ago when he was new in class,
the boy with the Marvel t-shirts and colourful notebooks had befriended him. To this day, he was
still his closest friend.

After a summer free of heckles and verbal insults, the first day back at school for his final year had
been a shower of cold water, washing away all the warmth of summer and replacing it with the
same old problems.

“How was your holiday, dickface?” Louis shouted at him from across the hallway on the first day
back. “How was Paris? Or was it Bordeaux? You better not have brought more pretentious
behaviour with you back. God knows I cannot stand your wise-arse as it is.”

It was only the late nights out at the football pitch that still resembled the sense of escape he felt
during summer. Just the orange sun, the soft grass, and his cleat connecting to the leathered surface
of a football.

One week into the final school year, the football team had only had an official three practices after
establishing the squad. The players that had graduated last spring left an obvious void, but the new
additions did seem fairly good. Harry had watched them all at try-outs, able to tell most of them
would become second-string players, but he did spot some talent. It was the Friday before the first
weekend of the term, and Coach Abrahams had promised to announce which player was to become
the new captain of the team. Matthew, who had graduated, had always been the perfect captain; he
was certain, decisive, passionate, and immensely talented. He’d been the captain for almost three
years, and Harry had for a long time considered the loss of character the team would suffer once
he’d left. But despite all that, this was an opportunity. Being captain of a team this good would be
an excellent marker on his resume, and it would give club academies an extra reason to look his
way.

For some time, though, all signs had led to Louis Tomlinson. The guy wasn’t shy in proclaiming
that he wanted and deserved it. Harry wasn’t so sure about the latter, but he knew Coach had a
penchant for players like Louis. He was fervent, aggressive, and skilled. But Harry desired it, too,
and he had fought just as hard to become captain. Never mind the fact that if Louis would become
captain, he would make Harry’s life a living and breathing hell.

Harry recalled Zayn’s encouraging good luck and thumbs-up from that morning, and tried to instil
a sense of ease in himself as he strode out on the grass pitch along with the rest of the boys that
afternoon. Breathe in from the nose, and out from the mouth. He had wanted to be a football
captain since he was a little boy. Today, it could be reality.

While Harry chewed gum in an attempt to calm himself, Louis was quiet and expectant, the other
boys chatting as they waited. Ed, a red-headed boy in their grade with a generally happy
disposition, wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders and tried to make him smile. Harry allowed
himself a grin, but only for a moment. They’d gathered in the middle circle of the pitch, waiting for
Coach to arrive. Some of them stretched, others lounged on the ground. Harry, sitting on the
ground, turned his face to the sky and let the grass slide through his fingers. Everything would be
fine.

When their coach finally arrived, it was with earnest steps and towing three large bags. Harry
watched quietly as he distributed the new football kits of the season to the team: several pairs of
socks, shorts, home and away jerseys, additional training shirts, and new water bottles. The school
had spent money this year, one could easily tell. Long overdue, Coach shared the news. Harry’s
heart beat a little faster and his incessant chewing slowed.

“So, I’ve come to the conclusion that both Harry and Louis will share the captain’s role.”

Harry sat entirely still.

What now?

Coach Abrahams looked almost too pleased as he grinned at all of them. “Co-captains,” he said,
and an uncomfortable silence spread throughout the group of boys.

Harry thought he had heard wrong.

“You will together run practices and prepare the team for the championship next spring. Now, let’s
get on with practice.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Harry’s eyes snapped to Louis, who had never looked as furious. And while Harry at first felt an
instant pleasure from watching him suffer, the realisation of what Coach had just said slowly sank
in. Co-captains. Being captains… together. With Louis.

He felt the horror of it make itself known on his face, and as he considered the news, he watched
Louis. He watched the boy argue, watched disbelief and hurt protrude from his enraged, blue eyes.
He looked like the world had come crashing down, while he belted out protests like an aggressive
animal.

And Harry simply knew he would despise every minute of his final year of school.

“I’m sorry, Coach,” he said as soon as he could get a word in between Louis’ incessant shouting,
“but there is no way in hell that I am going to captain this team with that.”
Harry looked at Coach Abrahams, searching for understanding in his eyes. They both knew exactly
how wild and chaotic Louis could be. Frankly, the guy was showcasing a perfect example of it in
that very second. But on Coach’s face, there was none of it. He had already made his decision, and
he looked perturbingly pleased with it.

The man placed a hand on each of Louis’ and Harry’s shoulders, watching them deeply in the eyes.
“Now, I expect success. If you fail, I will make someone else captain.”

He left them staring at each other grimly. Harry felt dread cling to every bone in his body, and as
the two of them glared at each other he kind of had an urge to vomit. Louis’ eyes were cold, hard,
and filled with venom.

“Don’t cry, Louis,” he said, deciding he wasn’t going to let the guy bully him out of the challenge.
“I’m sure your mum will still be proud of you.”

“Go fuck yourself, Styles.”

The following Monday they made the decision to split up the practices. They had spent an hour
shouting over each other, and the boys of the team had looked like they wanted to rather die or sit
through algebra than suffer through it. It was all Louis’ fault, naturally. The boy couldn’t let Harry
decide anything on his own, he didn’t even let him handle the warm-up. Coach accepted Harry’s
request that day, perhaps realising that dipping a toe in might be better than diving in headfirst, and
Louis seemed to find it beneficial enough to agree.

The following month was pure purgatory. Louis dictated his practices as if he were the king of the
jungle, and Harry made certain he suffered for it later during his own sessions. Louis began
sending out emails as they hit September, describing each of the exercises he wanted the team to
go through over the next month. When he even began scheduling Harry’s training sessions without
consultation, Harry made a WhatsApp group for the team that didn’t include Louis, solely for the
purpose of making fun of the emails. Naturally, it took two days before Louis found out and Harry
was forced to delete it to follow the non-bullying guidelines of the school. Louis only seemed to
take it as a win, but it didn’t stop him from sending out more emails. He just didn’t care that the
whole team despised it.

On a Sunday, Harry was slouching on the sofa in the family room of his house, a rerun of a
documentary on the telly. He had just received a group email from Louis, giving unwarranted
advice on dieting.

Food examples:
Breakfast: Banana, egg whites, almonds, protein shake of choice
Lunch: Chicken, rice, kidney beans, or fish
Dinner: veggies, salmon, avocado
Snack: you wish guys. Pizza is cool though. Sometimes.

Louis was overcompensating in his role as co-captain. It was sort of funny in a way, watching how
eager he was to be in charge. Perhaps part of Harry should have worried that Coach would see
Louis’ ambition and find Harry slacking in comparison, but he knew half of the shit Louis pulled
was solely ridiculous.

Just stop it man, someone retorted within an instant to the email.

Get a life, someone else wrote.

You guys will suffer tomorrow, Louis wrote back.

Harry was certain the guy meant it. He seemed serious about fitness, and Harry had of course seen
him without clothes many times over the years. He wasn’t blind, either. Objectively, Louis was fit.
And not just physically in shape. For someone who was so stupidly annoying, he was gorgeous.
Harry had noticed he was cute when they were fifteen, but as Louis was hitting eighteen, he was
suddenly something different. Deep blue eyes, soft caramel brown hair that still looked like a mad
haystack after a match, and a pair of really delectable, tanned muscular legs. Harry could admit to
thinking about Louis. He could admit to wondering if there was a chance he was into guys. Of
course, he’d seen him snog a girl once at a party, and maybe he was just projecting. Truth was,
Harry had considered that very question for a long time when it came to himself. It wasn’t until last
year, that he became certain of it. It hadn’t been a process he’d enjoyed, but at least he knew
himself better now.

As if to emphasise the thought, another message lit up his phone. This one filled his body with
anxiety. His fingers turned to stone as his eyes combed over the words on the screen.

We need to talk, Harry. You have to talk to me.

He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to forget her face. Sometimes he wished she’d never existed in
the first place, and sometimes he wanted to just run away. Most of all, he wanted to be free of this.
However, he knew the only way to be free was to tell the truth.

As his mum walked by the sofa, passing through the room towards the kitchen, he sat up,
considering. If he told her, maybe he wouldn’t have to be so frightened. If only one other person
knew, he would feel better, and his former friend wouldn’t have such a hold over him.

He sat up. “Mum, I need to tell you something.”

“Not now, darling. I’m on the phone with Lucy.”

He watched her disappear into the next room. Perhaps this was just as good. Perhaps it could
remain a secret for a while longer. Just a little while.

He grabbed his things and shut off the telly, trudged upstairs, and curled up on his bed. The
message had left a hard ball of anxiety in his stomach. It curled and had a life of its own. It was
almost a sense of nausea that washed over him. Perhaps he would vomit? If he vomited, would he
feel better after? Maybe he could disappear into the bed and resurface in a year when school was
finished and he’d left Doncaster behind?

The following day wasn’t much better. Louis berated the boys for ten minutes for their
disrespectful retorts to his emails, and Harry had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut lingering all
throughout the day. As he warmed up, passing the ball between himself and Ed, he thought he was
about to faint from the feeling of panic that flashed through him when he spotted her near the
bleachers. Over the summer he’d managed to escape, but school made it nearly impossible. He did
his best to avoid her, but everything from last year bolted through him all over again each time she
appeared. All he wanted was to forget it. But he couldn’t, because she wouldn’t let him.

“Are you okay?” asked Ed carefully as Harry faced away from the rest of the team, suddenly
breathless.

“Fine,” he grunted out. His stomach seemed to turn in on itself.

“What?” he heard Louis’ sharp voice complain. “Don’t tell me you’re already fed up with training,
Styles.”

The nausea was replaced with anger. “Just shut the fuck up, mate, for once in your life,” he spat.

Harry didn’t look at him, but he heard Louis’ voice turn harder. “Lads, it looks like some of you
have trouble keeping up. Why don’t we all stop the passing and run some laps instead.”

The boys groaned and shook their heads at Louis. Their co-captains’ fighting seemed to constantly
be taken out on all of them. Harry’s fist clenched, but it was a Monday and Louis was in charge.
However, running meant getting further away from the bleachers, and that invitation he gladly
accepted at that moment. He began jogging, ignoring Louis’ smirk.

The rest of the week didn’t get any better. He received another text from the girl who used to be his
friend, and it threw him all over again.

You need to talk to me. I’m running out of patience.

He nearly skipped school, but every day at the last second, he forced himself to go, knowing he
had football practice to run. He contemplated it regularly, actually telling someone. Zayn was the
clear option, but he wasn’t the person Harry worried about knowing it. It was his family and the
football team. Simply the fact that he wouldn’t be able to tell them himself was what frightened
him the most. Not the reaction, just the fact that other people would talk about him behind his back
before he could face it himself.

On Friday, he had felt sick for a week, unable to withstand it. He needed to tell at least his family.
They had to know before the whole school would talk about it.

He called his older sister, Gemma. She had moved an hour away for university studies, and he
hadn’t seen her in months. She’d spent the summer in France with her current boyfriend. Mean-
while, Harry had stayed in Doncaster as his parents worked and left him to his own devices. The
two of them didn’t talk as often lately, but deep down he hoped his sister would be there for him
like she had when they were kids.

“Can you come home this weekend?” he begged.

“Why?” she asked, and he swallowed.

“I have something important to tell you.”

“Just tell me now.”

He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see it. “I can’t. I need you to come home.”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I have so much to revise this weekend. I can’t just drop everything and drive
back to Doncaster.”

He felt his stomach clench. “It’s really, really important, Gemma.”

Her answer was final. “I can’t, Harry. Perhaps in a few weeks, okay? When I can organise my
schedule.”

It made it worse, but he needed to do it anyway. Without Gemma by his side, the challenge
appeared a thousand times more daunting, but the threat of not getting to tell them himself was too
overbearing.

On Saturday morning, he made sure to get up early and catch his parents before they ran off to
whatever they had planned for the day. His parents were both deeply invested in their work lives,
and his mother often went to galleries and exhibitions in her free time, while his father wasn’t
afraid to book up his weekends with business lunches and golf.

His mum was having breakfast on the terrace in the backyard next to the pool, and his father was in
the kitchen, pouring black coffee into a thermos. Harry passed through the kitchen and opened the
door to the yard in order to speak to them both simultaneously.

“Will you guys be home tonight?” he asked, trying to seem casual. Like it wasn’t the first time
he’d seen them in the same room for at least a week.

“Who?” his father asked, looking up from his thermos, a loose tie hanging from his neck.

Harry stared at him. “You? And mum? Obviously.”

“Oh.” He looked away. “I’m off golfing, and tonight I’m having dinner with Michael. You
remember him, right? Mr. Clark.”

“I have a thing with Lucy, darling.” His mum called the words from the terrace. Harry nearly rolled
his eyes. He was so used to hearing Lucy’s name these days, he wondered if his mum’s colleague
saw more of her than he did.

“What about tomorrow? Maybe we could have dinner together.”

It wasn’t the words they replied with, rather the silence that preceded them, that revealed how odd
the question rang.

“Together?” His mum looked up. “Oh, darling, that would be just lovely.”

Harry nodded and glanced at his father. “Great.”

“Great!” repeated his dad. Then he slid out of the room, and Harry’s short-lived smile fell.
Fantastic.

He hadn’t really expected anything better than the lukewarm reactions he’d received. This
household hadn’t been particularly excited about family activities in recent years. Sometimes it felt
like they lived separate lives, and only shared the roof over their heads. He could barely even
remember the last time they’d had a conversation deeper than “Did you eat?” or “Did you do your
homework?”

Of course, he had finished his homework. Having good marks was an important part of having real
options after school. But the truthful answer to the question was: of course, he’d done his
homework because aside from Zayn Harry didn’t have too many friends. The lads on the team
were good mates, but none of them knew Harry in the earnest and deep way a real friendship
warranted.

He’d been friends with Jasmine for the last three years of school, but that had ended abruptly last
spring, and with that a lot of the friendships he had made through her were terminated. She’d been
one of his closest friends, and now all he felt was pain when he thought of her. She was the reason
he was forced to tell his parents about his true self, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.
Nevertheless, it was inescapable.
He spent the Saturday alone, because Zayn had gone to visit his cousins in Bradford for the
weekend. The house was too big when it was empty, and although the cat would come to cuddle on
the sofa with him, he didn’t like the silence. Instead, he preferred to be outside. As he had done
during the summer, he often went on walks through the parks, letting a football play at the toes of
his sneakers as he went. Somewhere near the playground that particular day, not far from the
football pitch, he noticed the blond hair of a guy that seemed to always be by Louis Tomlinson’s
side at school. It was at least half a footie pitch away, but he recognised the noise of Louis’ laugh
the second he heard it. Harry turned around and left the park.

When the evening rolled about, he spent hours turning over in bed, contemplating how the
conversation could be brought up at dinner the following night. “Do you remember when I dated
Jasmine? Well, it turned out I’m gay and now she wants to tell everyone, so I’ve decided to come
clean in order to not collapse of fear each time I see her face.” It wasn’t exactly something he
wanted to say to anyone.

If he had imagined coming out, ever, it wouldn’t be because he was scared. It would be because
he’d feel free. This was all wrong because he felt nothing close to free.

The whole Sunday he lay in bed, staring at coming-out videos on YouTube. None of it felt
applicable, because deep down he wasn’t ready. But he told himself he had to. He had to.

At half-past six, his mum called out that dinner was ready. Harry had tried to help her, but his dad
was talking in his ear about some sort of extracurricular project for up-and-coming entrepreneurs
his company was organising next spring. Harry tried to wave him off, knowing he wasn’t
interested in business, but his father had been persistent for a long time, trying to entice him. Harry
had once attempted to explain his passion for football, but he wasn’t sure his dad had registered a
word of it.

For dinner, they had gratinated pasta with basil and parmesan. They sat at the dark, wooden dining
table, the shining cutlery and thick napkins suggesting it was a special evening. The silence around
them loudly contradicted it. Harry was so preoccupied with the anxiety and dread of the words that
he had to force out of his mouth not much later, that he didn’t even realise he hadn’t tasted his
mum’s cooking for weeks. He didn’t even remember the last time they’d sat down to eat, the three
of them all together.

“It tastes great, Mum,” he mumbled after ten minutes, even though he couldn’t feel any of it in his
mouth.

“Very nice,” muttered his dad.

He swallowed and took a breath. “Um, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

“About what, dear?”

“Is it about school?” His dad didn’t look up from the pasta, but his voice got louder. “Did you
finally decide to drop those extracurriculars? Because you know I can bring you along after school
to work. It’d give you a good start.”

Normally, Harry would get pissed off at someone referring to football as an extracurricular
activity, because in all honesty football was a way of life. It lived inside him with a fire and a
power of its own. But at that moment, all he could think about was forcing the two words that any
homosexual person was eventually supposed to admit out of his mouth.

I’m gay.
I’m gay.

“I’m —”

“Oh, come on now, Des. Harry needs to focus on school work. Pushing him to do too much at a
time won’t be beneficial for him,” his mum said, and Harry felt both grateful and tossed aside.
“Remember when I was struggling in Cheshire, trying to do everything and anything I possibly
could in order to just have one thing succeed… When we moved here, and Lucy found me, she
told me to take a minute and then focus on one thing at a time. I did, and look at me now.”

Harry’s father stared at his wife, the brows on his forehead raised as if the words made him want to
turn off his hearing for the rest of the week. “Anne, you know I don’t care one bit what that
woman thinks.”

She looked offended. “Lucy is a fantastic businesswoman! Her advice is what’s brought me a lot
of the success I’ve had with my work.”

He shook his head. “She may be, but this is a different field. Art is art, but business is business.”

Harry opened his mouth. Perhaps he could just shout it, so he didn’t have to listen to them bicker?
“Anyway, what I was going to say —”

“A different field! But like you said, business is business, Des. Just because you don’t like her,
doesn’t mean that you can disregard her achievements —”

“Here we go!” Harry’s father shook his head, beginning to stand from the table. “Lucy this! Lucy
that! Christ’s sake, Anne. It doesn’t matter what she thinks, and it certainly doesn’t matter what she
thinks about Harry. Either way, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Harry could benefit from her advice just as much as I have! Perhaps it’ll be better if he joins the
gallery next summer, instead of loitering around in conference rooms and playing golf all day.
Perhaps he will actually learn something before the business classes next year.”

Harry raised his voice, trying to get his words out. An angry knot was starting to form in his gut. “I
was going to explain to you that I wanted to share something about myself —”

His dad was putting his plate in the sink in the kitchen, though, and his tired laughter could be
heard. “Anne, if he spent the afternoons with us, he would know why those golf hours are as
important as they are.”

“Please, Des! All you do is slam a metal stick into a ball. It’s a joke! Harry will spend the summer
with me.” His mum placed a hand on Harry’s unmoving shoulder. She smiled at him. “Don’t
worry, darling.”

Harry’s father walked into the room again, shaking his head as he disappeared upstairs to his
office. Harry stared at his pasta, relieved and torn up all at once. The two of them sat in silence at
the table, certainly thinking about entirely different things.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that his mum came to life, and Harry jumped in his seat as she
touched the brown curls on his head.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry, my dear. I know you wanted to have a nice dinner with us. Oh, Harry. Maybe
tomorrow we can make it up?”

Harry doubted he would ever again put himself through the anxiety of forcing himself to come out,
just for him to be ignored and feel like dying as an end result.

His mum stroked his cheek. “Harry, honey. I will make sure he’s home tomorrow night and we’ll
have a lovely time. Perhaps pizza? Oh, we can walk into town. The weather is still lovely!”

Harry stopped listening.

When he woke up on Monday, he decided to stay at home. He didn’t want to face school, and he
definitely didn’t want to risk running into Jasmine. He had failed to tell his parents, and he doubted
he’d ever gather enough courage to come as close again in a long time.

He kissed the family cat on the head, scratching behind her ear where she slouched at the top of
the stairs, and slowly headed down. He planned to make coffee, and then curl up on the sofa to
watch a rerun of last year’s Champions League final and sleep until he couldn’t remember anything
about his life. Sufficiently putting an end to his plans, his father met him in the kitchen. He was in
sweats and a t-shirt that wasn’t all that flattering.

“Will you be home today?” asked Harry, surprised.

“Is that an issue?” his father chuckled.

It really, really, really was.

Harry turned around, went upstairs and packed his school things, took a shower, and drove to
school. The world didn’t seem to allow him even a moment of reprieve.

Making matters worse, Zayn was nowhere to be found throughout the first half of the day. Harry
knew he liked to sit behind the cafeteria and smoke with some of his mates, but when he went to
check during a break he wasn’t there.

Are you in school? he texted when it was time for lunch. He’d sat through the lessons, ignoring the
teachers, and prayed he wouldn’t run into Jasmine — or Louis for that matter.

Nah man, was the reply he received a minute later. Harry sighed, walked out of school and towards
the parking lot. He wasn’t in the mood to face the cafeteria on his own, because without Zayn or
Ed, Jasmine was more likely to approach him. He was still hungry, though, so he jumped into the
car. It had been a gift for his last birthday. He admitted it was a lovely thing, black and expensive,
but he knew it was more or less an apology from his parents for not being around much since
Gemma had headed off to uni. Nevertheless, the car meant independence, and he had accepted the
gift knowing it meant less time listening to his parents’ nagging during school drop-offs.

He bought a sandwich at the large Sainsbury’s, not too far from the school. The break was long,
though, so he strolled through the shop, uninterestedly glancing at things he wasn’t going to buy.
Eventually, he ventured into the pharmacy department. There, it was the rainbow flag on a shelf
that made him stop. It was small, but enough for Harry to notice. It made him both sad, and happy
all at once. It reminded him that being gay was accepted by most, but also brought on the
disappointment of not being brave enough to share it with the people closest to him. It also made
memories of Jasmine resurface.

He stared longer, turning angrier and angrier as he kept looking. The flag was placed next to a
piece of paper taped to the shelf with intimate products. “Safe sex for all.” There were lubricants
and lubes for vaginal and anal sex, along with condoms and other pleasurable stock. Harry had
never had sex, but he had been interested enough to stare at those particular products more times
than he could count. He’d never bought any of them. He didn’t even have a boyfriend. Hadn’t ever
kissed a guy. All he knew was that sex was something he wanted. Or maybe it was love he wanted.
At any rate, sex was usually in the mix of that.

Most of the time, Jasmine scared him shitless to be out. However, sometimes he also felt guilty for
not being out. Guilty because he wasn’t brave enough to stand up alongside his community. And
sometimes… he felt like his lack of gay experience jostled his validity as a gay man.

Perhaps it was the sexual curiosity that took over and made him pick a bottle of lube off the shelf.
Maybe it was pure defiance. After another moment of consideration, he also grabbed a small set of
condoms. He was gay, no matter who knew and who didn’t. He didn’t have to tell people to be
extremely fucking homosexual.

Making sure nobody who knew him was around, he strode up to the till and purchased the items.
He nearly ran out of the shop afterwards, jumping into his car like he’d stolen something. He
buried the items in the bottom of his training bag where nobody would find them.

He drove back to school and stayed in the Range Rover until it neared time for next class. The rest
of the day blurred by in a mix of thoughts that kept falling back to the night before. He felt an
annoying sense of anxiety each time he stepped out of the classroom. Whilst the beginning of
school always was nerve-wracking, because it meant his former friend could pop up just about
anywhere, the end of school meant the same. At least at the end of the day, Harry could rush over
to the locker rooms and hide until the very last minute before footie practice would start.

Normally, the football pitch meant peace. It meant grass, sweat, and goals. It meant a happiness
that Harry never felt anywhere else. But this year, that had changed. Louis becoming captain ruined
every sense of relief. Mondays and Tuesdays were horrid hours of Louis’ sarcasm and punishment.
For what, Harry most of the time didn’t know.

At the end of the training session that day, Louis decided they’d play a match. By a tragic random
split, Harry ended up on the same team as him. In a way, it meant two of the team’s best players in
one team; Harry a striker, and Louis a midfielder. The only thing was that they rarely played well
together. Louis was unpredictable and hardly passed Harry the ball. What was the point of being a
perfect number nine if the playmaker never passed him?

Louis proved that particular point when they were three against two, heading up the opposing
team’s penalty area. Harry was unmarked, and he waved his hand above his head, shouting for the
ball. Even practice games filled his head with blood and energy, and he didn’t care if it was a real
match or a drill. He needed the ball, so he could score.

“Hey!” he barked. “Oi!”

Instead of passing, Louis tried to dribble past the nearest defender. He got stuck, sliding across the
grass and losing the ball to Stan, who quickly kicked it up the field to Jonny. The opportunity was
gone just as fast as it had occurred. And it wasn’t like Harry wasn’t used to Louis ignoring his
complete existence on the football pitch, but it was things like this that would make certain they’d
never have a chance to win the championship. On top of it, there was hardly any time left until their
first match of the season. If Louis continued with this bullshit during actual matches, they would
sure as bloody hell lose.

Harry wasn’t having that. He refused that. And Harry really, really was not in a good mood lately.

He strode up to Louis, breath heaving and anger steering his every move. “Why can’t you get your
head out of your fucking arse and pass me the ball for once, huh?”
Oli and Liam were in the way, and he pushed them aside to reach Louis Fucking Tomlinson.

Louis scoffed. “Oh, so you can miss the entire goal again? Like you did the last game?”

Harry’s fingers almost shook. The last game of the season was another memory he wanted to
forget. He’d been tackled near the penalty area and missed the one chance they’d had to even out
the match. Louis had never let him forget it, and he was tired of being reminded of things he
neither wanted to recall nor had any control over.

“Fuck you, Tomlinson.” He shook his head, adrenaline already thrumming under his nerves. “I was
fucking tackled and you know it!”

“Stop blaming anything but yourself. You’re just a pussy, aren’t you?”

The words cut through Harry’s head and peeled all the way down his throat. It was too close to
home. It was too near the truth. He hadn’t even been able to tell one person he was gay. Not his
parents, not even his best friend. Even though he had known the truth for a while now.

Harry didn’t really know what came over him. One moment he was watching Louis’ snarky mouth
toy with spiteful words, and the next he was lunging at him, aiming at his face with his fist. He
wanted to kill him. He wanted to see his face broken.

His hands connected somewhere with Louis’ body, knocking him to the ground. It wasn’t enough.
He wasn’t done. Someone grabbed his arm before his knuckles could connect to Louis’ face this
time, and he struggled to free himself from the several hands that held him back. For a second, he
didn’t get it. All of the boys knew what a twat Louis was, and he bet most of them wouldn’t mind
seeing him get his arse kicked once in a while. Why would they stop him? He didn’t want to be
stopped. He wanted to break his nose. Maybe if Louis wasn’t so bloody fit, he would stop thinking
he was so goddamn almighty.

“Boys!” It was Coach.

Harry pushed his teammates off himself, and Louis scrambled up from the ground. Harry wanted
nothing more than knock him down again, but Coach was right there. It would only end in
suspension.

“Lads, head off to the showers. I need to talk some sense into these Godforsaken knobheads.”

Harry exhaled, his heart pumping and eyes filled with hatred as he glared at Louis’ stupid face.
Truth be told, he heard about a per cent of what Coach said to them. He knew he was being told
off for getting physical, and he knew Louis was getting berated for creating disputes. He had heard
all of it so many times he could improvise a whole speech from Coach Abrahams’ point of view.
Instead, he stared at Louis. He glared at his tan face, hated the pumping vein in his neck, and
wanted to jam his knuckles into the side of his head, right at his temple where a pearl of sweat slid
down, down, and hit his jaw.

Harry only came to when the one-sided conversation was coming to a close.

“If you boys don’t get yourselves together, I will make sure that none of the academies come out to
see you play. It would be a bloody embarrassment suggesting children like yourselves would ever
fit in at an academy.” The man shook his head and stalked off.

If there were any words that could bolt some sense into them, it would be those. Harry sincerely
doubted that Louis would ever stop being a world-class idiot, though. He shared this opinion with
him as they paced towards the locker room, and Louis looked like he wanted nothing but strangle
him.

“I’ve worked a thousand times harder than you to get the boys fit for the season,” he said angrily.
Some spit landed on the ground. “All you do is jog ‘round the penalty box and hope someone gives
you the fucking ball!”

Frustration sparked within Harry. He pushed the door to the locking room open, finding it empty
but still hot from the showers the other boys had taken not so long ago. Louis sure had a way of
creating false realities in his head.

“You’re a liar! Stop pretending my job as a striker isn’t up to par. Your role is to pass me the
fucking ball, and you sure as hell aren’t doing that.”

Louis laughed coldly, striding up to his locker and dragging a black bag from it. He began tearing
his footie boots off. “You don’t give a fuck about this team, Harry. You’re just a little rich boy
with nothing better to do than ruin my life. Why don’t you just give up the captain title and let me
get the job done?”

Harry knew Louis thought he was a snob, but he had never pegged Louis for being stupid enough
to believe he didn’t care about football or the team. He kicked off his own boots, peeling the socks
from his feet and undoing his shinpads. They were wet, sticky with sweat from his legs.

“You must actually be dumb if you think that. You’re the one who clearly only cares whether you
win the scoring league or not! If you gave a shit about this team, you would acknowledge that I
freaking exist out there.”

Louis’ voice was icy. “Trust me, you don’t.”

Even though he was used to Louis’ frosty words, today they seemed to ring particularly loud. They
hit harder because Harry nearly believed them.

He tore his shirt off, kicking his bag to the side on the floor, internally pretending it was Louis’
face. Or his own. “If you’d get off your high horse, we could actually make this a good team.”

The sigh he was met with was laced with disgust. “Styles, if you didn’t know it already, I don’t
freaking like you, and I don’t plan on doing it in the future, either. So do us both a favour and shut
the hell up.” His voice got lower, almost a mumble, as if he was speaking to himself. Harry didn’t
miss it. “I’m fairly sure I can manage that without your yoga-infested training regimen.”

“I don’t fucking like you, either, Louis. But if your bitching and whining doesn’t stop, I am going
to either kill you or kill myself.”

Louis turned around slowly, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweaty underpants, his upper body
naked and still heaving from practice and shouting. He had an obviously muscular body, slim, but
it was clear his days of football had had an effect on it. A faint tan lingered all over him. The only
thing Harry could find charming about it was that the guy clearly had zero clue as to how fit he
was. Or he knew and didn’t care.

Both options were disgustingly hot, and it pissed Harry off even more.

The shit-eating grin, or self-righteous smirk rather, that spread out on Louis’ face was enough to
make Harry want to throw his shinpad at his face.

Louis stood there in the middle of the locker room, overwhelmingly almost naked. His voice was
like the calm before the storm. “Please do,” he said. He had never sounded as gentle. “I think it
would do us all a favour, truly. Imagine the relief for us all. The team, me,” he laughed, “your
family —”

Harry pushed him. He pushed him hard and without remorse.

Louis, unexpectant and in the middle of a great monologue, flew back into the nearest wall of
lockers. The noise that escaped the metal was loud, echoing against the ceiling. Louis’ breath
hitched and he slid down slightly, meanwhile, Harry felt a white-hot urge to bury the boy’s face in
the metal.

He approached him deliberately, their teammates nowhere to be found to stop him. This time he
would actually kill him.

But Louis was faster this time, hands coming up and pushing Harry back in the chest. Harry tried to
grab his arms, but Louis twisted away, squirming feistily and fighting back. Their hands struggled
to find purchase against one another, neither of them wearing anything to grab onto. It wasn’t until
a few seconds of struggle that Harry noticed an opening, and he lifted his hand to punch Louis in
the shoulder. Somehow Louis managed to grasp his wrist, and it thoroughly surprised Harry, the
sheer strength the grip inherited. Louis was slimmer and shorter than him, but his hold was
unexpectedly firm and forceful. And Louis pulled Harry away from himself.

It pissed him off because he hadn’t expected Louis to be a good fighter. He wasn’t an expert
himself, clearly, but from what he’d seen, Louis most definitely wasn’t. He was all mouth and little
bite. But now all Harry felt was Louis’ strong hands around himself. He was solid.

In his moment of bewilderment, Louis kneed him in the thigh and he buckled over. But not before
grabbing Louis by the arm. In a matter of a second, they fell and landed with heavy exhales against
the hard floor, Louis on top of him, instantly scrambling to get off. The fall had forced them into an
oddly intimate position; chest on chest, shorts against shorts, legs tangled.

And Louis was warm. Hot. Almost naked.

Something inside of him grasped the steering wheel of his brain, and an odd influx of teenage
desire and impulse came over him. He had never been as close to a boy before, and all of it just
reaffirmed what he already knew about himself: he liked boys. And Louis was fit. Objectively.
And on top of him. He could feel him through his shorts. All of him.

Harry stilled and stopped fighting. He hated Louis, but it seemed even that faded away when his
body was reminded that Louis indeed was a boy and indubitably attractive and naked. It took Louis
a moment before he realised that Harry wasn’t trying to assault him any longer, but when he did,
his movements slowed. Harry’s breaths felt too big for his body, his heart rapidly punching into his
throat. He huffed out a large, nervous exhale, squirming slightly under Louis’ weight. He looked
up, finding Louis’ eyes staring right back into his.

They were very blue.

For an awfully long, awkward moment, none of them said anything. They were both nearly naked,
and Harry couldn’t help it. He could blame it on being a sex-deprived, teenage virgin, but he
doubted anyone else wouldn’t have the same reaction to being underneath a naked Louis
Tomlinson. Before he knew it and could stop it, he was turning hard.

Instantly, he felt sheer humiliation wash over him, because Louis must have felt it. However, the
embarrassment lasted only a second, because he quickly came to realise that… well, Louis wasn’t
moving. Louis was silent, breathless, and most of all… he was hard, too.
It caught Harry completely off guard, even more so than the fact that this was the last person on
the planet he wanted to feel attracted to. Louis was incredibly fit, but he was an idiot. More
importantly, Harry was the one who was gay. Not Louis. Clearly, what was happening was
unreasonable on all levels.

Nonetheless, Harry had waited so long for something like this to happen in his life, that it seemed
even the feeling of Louis being hard against him was enough to make him lose all rational thought.
It was Louis Tomlinson of all people, but if Louis wanted him then… call him desperate. He just
wanted to feel something good.

“Fuck me,” he whispered.

The air felt still.

“What?”

Harry didn’t repeat himself. All he felt was Louis’ heavy, warm body against his own. Instead, his
hips bucked up a fraction, and he felt Louis’ exhale across his face within a second. What was
more intense than that, was the way Louis shivered. Harry could feel it all over him. Everywhere.
Then, Louis groaned a soft and sweet noise that made Harry’s body fill up with pure heat. He knew
that Louis was sold.

“Okay,” the boy seemed to say as Harry leaned up into him, but Harry was too attuned to the
feeling of Louis dragging his hands across his body to listen closely. He had never felt someone
touch him like this, and both nerves and excitement met in a waterfall of rushed touches and loud
breaths.

Louis’ hands were firm. He seemed to know what he was doing when he pushed Harry’s shorts
down and fitted his legs in between. Harry was too occupied by the flush of warmth within to care
if Louis had done this before or not. He didn’t even care that he hadn’t done it before. Louis’ chest
on his, and his thigh pressing into his groin, was overwhelming enough.

Furthermore, Louis’ body was simultaneously precisely and nothing like Harry would have
thought. It wasn’t like he’d imagined something like this ever occurring, but he had known that
Louis was hot. Stupidly so. He was soft, the skin on his back smooth and toned just like expected,
but he was also intensely solid and tough.

“H-how,” breathed Louis. Harry made a decision and didn’t let Louis move, enjoying the intimacy
too much to let him go anywhere.

“Like this.”

Louis nodded hastily, his body suddenly pressing down, movements now full of intent. Harry bit
his lip not to moan right out, but the feeling of pleasure was too strong to keep him from hurrying.
Off with the clothes, all of them. Now. His hands slid down Louis’ slim sides, fingers disappearing
into his boxers, pushing the fabric down as far as he could. Louis leaned on his side to push them
off himself and then hurried to pull down Harry’s shorts.

Everything was swift. It seemed like barely a second had passed between shouting and lying on the
floor, naked and exhaling in hot waves against each other’s skin. Louis’ mouth was wet and
touching the crease in Harry’s left shoulder, and the urgency that seemed to carry all of their
movements kept flooding.

A thought struck Harry. They were going to have sex. In earnest. “I’ve got lube.”
Louis looked up from Harry’s chest, staring quizzically. “Why the hell have you got lube?”

Harry stayed where he was, but reached behind himself for his bag, hand searching for the bottle.
“None of your business.” Where was that fucking bottle? And the condoms?

The reply seemed to bring back some of Louis’ snarky attitude, but it wasn’t enough to deter him
from running his hands behind Harry’s thighs, getting closer and closer. Harry’s heart stuttered as
he forced the plastic off the bottle cap. Louis’ hands hovered slightly, but he remained sane enough
to quip, “Need any help with that?”

Harry stopped only to give him a glare, but looking at Louis from this position, below him, was
terribly odd. For the first time, Harry felt nervous. Louis’ skin was hot, and his fringe hung down
into his eyes. He suddenly didn’t feel like the same person Harry had despised for years, but he still
sounded like him.

Harry was determined to show none of his internal fluster. Instead of that, he proceeded. He pushed
some of the lube onto his fingers and tossed the bottle aside. He reached down and did the best he
could to prepare himself. He had touched himself before, but with Louis right there, skin radiating
heat and hands hovering over his sides… It was something else entirely. His heart thumped
heavily, and he closed his eyes to not have to see Louis’ face above him.

Louis’ thighs pressed against his own after a minute or so, and for a second time, Harry felt a weird
heat. Want. He had never felt that kind of desire before. He had never felt this kind of fire. His
hands gripped Louis’ sides, and he breathed, “Let’s do it.”

He mustered some courage and looked up into Louis’ eyes. It took only a moment for Louis to
breathlessly nod, eyes weirdly piercing and blue as they stared back into Harry’s. For a second,
Harry felt lost. Then he felt him pushing inside him.

“Fuck,” Louis exhaled. Harry felt a tight spike of pain, but the other boy’s breath on his neck was
oddly soothing. Louis’ moan was almost a whisper. “You’re tight.”

The small note of pain slowly faded out, but Harry couldn’t help himself from grinding his teeth.
“Really? I thought… this would be easy, considering I’ve never done this before. Fucking moron.”

At this, Louis’ blue eyes twisted away and his eyelids fluttered. “Are you going to shut up…” They
both caught a breath as Louis moved into Harry in a sure movement, “and let me fuck you?”

“Please, do go on.”

Louis pulled back and moved into him again, and this time it was another hint of pain, but it, too,
faded.

“Shit.” Harry’s hand clutched the other boy’s arm where it rested on the side of him, but the touch
only brought them closer. The feeling of Louis pressing down on him, chest against chest, was
almost as overwhelming as having him inside him.

Louis continued to move, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut even then. “Don’t tell me it hurts,
love. You’re the one who insisted not to be on your knees.”

Harry should have predicted it, considering the extensive experience he had with Louis’ cut-throat
language, but somehow one would assume he’d at least shut up whilst having sex.

“Oh, excuse me if I —” He let out a moan as he felt Louis thrust particularly deep. He instantly felt
Louis slapping his hand that still had a tight grip on his arm. Harry didn’t even feel it.
“Son of a bitch,” complained Louis.

“You’re one to talk. Anyway —” Another hot thrust that had him sliding up slightly on the floor. It
was surprising, but the fact that Louis, who was indeed smaller than Harry in physics, had the
ability to do that just made Harry sweat worse. It was terribly hot. But as always, he couldn’t resist
arguing back. “You could have at least warned me, arsehole.”

“Sorry,” said Louis. Harry looked up, finding the word completely alien out of that boy’s mouth.
He tried to find his eyes, but Louis was looking down, eyes locked on Harry’s shoulder as he
moved. A little bit of his fringe brushed his skin. Harry felt completely stunned for a second, but
then Louis continued. “Now, what were you saying?”

Harry couldn’t even remember at first. Louis inside him was beginning to feel really, really good,
and he had just heard the boy say the most foreign word in the world. “Yes, um. I was saying that,
excuse me if I’d like to see the face of the person who’s the first to fuck me.”

“Yeah,” replied Louis, rising up slightly, and Harry could see an odd smile vaguely playing on his
lips. Harry frowned at it, wondering not for the first time what the hell was going on in Louis’
mind. “Because you’re so bloody in love with me.”

Harry laughed, honest, breathless, and loud. He closed his eyes, head bumping slightly against the
floor. Louis really was insanely conceited. But talking made Harry feel less nervous — it felt
normal even.

The boy’s breath landed on Harry’s throat. “Stop laughing.”

“Why? It was the funniest joke I’ve ever heard.”

“Are you going to shut the fuck up while I fuck you?” Once more they slid up on the floor, and
Harry felt his ear touch something that must have been a shoe on the floor, while his knee pressed
against the coolness of a metal locker for a short second.

“Thanks,” he huffed sarcastically, referring to the abruptness of Louis’ movements. He knew anal
sex might not be entirely painless the first time without much preparation, but he didn’t know his
body would adapt so easily, either. It was really, really something different.

“Welcome,” Louis bit off. His mouth was sharp as ever, but his body was gentler, more rhythmic
now. Harry closed his eyes and once more fell into that initial bubble of desire that had erupted
between them not many minutes ago. The back of his head was rubbing against the floor and the
small of his back felt slightly cold from the tiles, but neither of those things mattered. His body felt
on fire.

“Is it good yet?” asked Louis after a few minutes of silence where all Harry could do was inhale
and exhale hot breaths whilst his body turned into absolute rubber under Louis’ firm body. All he
could do was release a small moan in response. This was Louis on top of him, and moreover, it was
Harry’s first time. Somehow despite all of that, it was good. What the fuck?

Louis slipped, and his chest fell flush against him. Harry could feel the wetness of the other boy’s
mouth against his collarbone. Harry couldn’t help but exhale a small, incredulous laugh at the way
Louis had changed from a hissing snake into a moaning teenager. Perhaps he was also laughing at
the absurdity of all of this.

“You know,” he said because he knew it would piss Louis off. “If you come first, then I’m the one
who fucked you.”
At that, Louis rightened himself and began moving in earnest, and Harry couldn’t stay tough for
long. Honestly, in those moments he simply wanted to just fall into it, drop his guard, and just be.
He did that for a short moment, and suddenly he felt a bristling hint of pleasure shoot throughout
his body.

The fuck… was that.

“Found it?” Louis sounded pleased.

“Found it,” Harry responded, but couldn’t keep himself together enough to sound sarcastic. Oh,
dear fuck. Louis clearly knew what was supposed to happen.

It didn’t take long for him to feel like he was about to finish after that, and he assumed that Louis
felt the same when he began urging him to finish off, surely remembering the comment Harry had
made earlier.

“Harry, come on.” It felt odd hearing him say his real name, instead of Styles. “Harry. Come.”

Harry was truly on the edge, but it wasn’t until he felt Louis’ hand on his lower belly, finally
reaching down to touch him that his body felt that pure, wonderful release. As he did, Louis
groaned into the side of Harry’s face, his body becoming lax and soft against him all at once. He
pulled out of him, but remained where he was.

Harry breathed slowly, catching his breath but seeing only blank as he felt pounds of pleasure rush
through him. Harry had no clue for how long they lay there, but soon he began to realise how
heavy Louis actually was. He also felt a bit of spit on his neck.

“Stop breathing on my neck,” he fuzzed, shoving the boy lightly in the side. His mind still hadn’t
recovered.

Louis rolled off, sitting up and sorting himself out. He tossed the condom towards a bin, while
Harry wiped himself off with the nearest clothing article he could find. He was slowly beginning to
realise what they had done, but a sharp jab in his arm paused his thoughts.

“My jersey. Really?” said Louis’ voice.

Honestly, Harry hadn’t noticed, but if it pissed Louis off then it was all right by him. He scoffed at
the boy’s reaction and chucked the shirt at him as he stood. He looked down at Louis, who
appeared suddenly kind of different from what he had like twenty minutes ago when he’d behaved
like a mind-boggling brat. In all honesty, Harry was still expecting Louis to be one, but right then
Louis’ fringe was smudged and his chest was sweaty. His skin was faintly tan, and his arm
muscles still flexed from leaning on the floor.

Louis’ eyes sharpened as he stared at the dirty jersey. “You were gonna’ shower anyway. Arse.”

Harry shrugged. “I thought you liked my arse.” With that he left, rounding the corner and heading
into the showers.

Thankfully, Louis didn’t follow him. Harry needed to minute to collect himself, alone. His brain
was beginning to sober up, properly this time. As he cleaned himself off, letting the waterfall brush
cum and sweat off his stomach, he started to realise just how stupid the whole thing was. What if
someone had walked in? It was a bloody miracle that no one had, considering that most of the boys
on the team came and went a few times throughout the day. Just thinking of someone catching
them made one of the usual rushes of nausea flare up. What if Jasmine had walked in? Illogical, as
it was a men’s locker room, but his mind couldn’t help but connect the two.
Good lord.

What if Louis would tell people? Perhaps Louis didn’t care if people knew he was gay. He never
seemed to care what people thought of him. He consistently acted confident in spite of other
opinions or negativity. Harry had witnessed too many occasions of the guy being in complete, total
wrong, whilst defending himself like it was a matter of life and death.

But Louis must have been aware that Harry wasn’t out? Christ, Harry’d had a very public girlfriend
not that long ago. The polite thing would be to check whether he was good on the whole sharing
thing. It would be a respectable courtesy. Unfortunately, Harry didn’t have great experiences in the
whole sharing his sexuality department, and he definitely didn’t trust Louis Tomlinson.

When he got out of the shower, Louis had evaporated. His belongings were gone, and so was he.
Harry slowly got dressed, noting it was already very late afternoon as he checked his phone. Half
the parking lot would be empty by the time he got out there. He collected his clothes that were
spread on the floor, disbelief settling inside. They’d had sex. He and Louis. And strangest of all, it
had been good.

It really was a fucking shame that Louis Tomlinson was such a boneheaded moron.
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

By the time he got home, Harry had replayed the whole afternoon in his head so many times he
wasn’t sure if some of the details were even correct anymore. He dragged the training bag after
himself up to the house, having parked in the driveway. He could tell the lawn had been newly
mowed, because the scent of fresh-cut grass hit him the second he’d opened the car door. He
completely adored that smell, but right then it was hard to focus on it. He opened the front door
after breathing in what could probably be one of the last few real days of summer, and entered the
house through the hallway, tossing his shoes and bag aside. A sort of mental exhaustion wanted to
bury him in the sofa, but as he walked into the living room his parents surprised him by… being
there. He slowed in his step, looking back blankly as they seemed to stare expectantly.

“Hello?” he said, shrinking a little further into his hoodie.

“Hi, darling,” greeted his mum. Her long, black hair was twisted into a knot at the neck, fastened
with a large clip. She wore make-up as per usual, and her clothes were fit for the office. His father
looked more or less ready for the golf course, but when did he not? “Are you ready?”

Confusion dawned on Harry’s face. “What?”

“Pizza?” she smiled.

Oh, right. The pizza. For an hour or so Harry had actually forgotten the catastrophe of the previous
night.

His father looked up at him with a smile, but it was one that made him look older than Harry had
up until then viewed him as. All of a sudden, he could detect grey in his hair, and more wrinkles
around his eyes than usual.

“All right, let’s go,” he said, unable to think of a reason not to. His parents seemed fairly at ease.

“Splendid,” chirped his mum, and they stood from the sofa. Harry turned around, heading back the
way he came from. The night before seemed like more than twenty-four hours ago. It felt like a
year had passed. Since then, he’d been thrust into a morbid sphere of anxiety, found the courage to
buy lube and condoms at a store, had a physical fight, and actually had sex — with a guy. Not just
any bloke, either. Louis Tomlinson of all guys.

“Why don’t you drive us, Harry?” suggested his mum as they strolled out to the driveway.

He raised a brow at her. “Why?” They hadn’t driven together in months, and usually if they did
then it’d be in his mum’s silver Mercedes in unchallenged silence.

“It’ll be fun, dear!” she twittered, uncharacteristically energised. “Let’s see the progress since you
got your license.” She settled once she’d processed his and his father’s unimpressed stares. “Oh,
don’t be so boring. I would love to have you drive us, dear.”

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head. It was an obvious attempt for them to do something fun together.
A very, very feeble one. It was silly, but Harry couldn’t deny her the opportunity. It seemed his
father couldn’t, either, though they both knew it was stilted.
The drive was quiet at first, Harry focusing on the road and trying not to make any mistakes his
dad would inevitably give him instructions on. His mother discussed the menu, reading it from her
phone, and his father hummed disinterestedly from the backseat. The unusually laidback
atmosphere was switched back to the more common bickering as it came forth Harry’s mum had
mistakenly been reading off a menu from the wrong pizza parlour.

“You can head in,” said Harry, dropping them off before parking. “I’ll come order in a sec.”

The two of them headed inside, and Harry managed to parallel park despite the echo of his parents’
disagreements between his ears. He went inside, finding the restaurant busy. It was the most
popular pizza place in town, and thus Harry wasn’t surprised despite it being a Monday. He found
his parents, cutting in through their bickering.

“Have you ordered yet?” he asked. They must have found the correct menu by then.

“No, sweetheart,” replied his mum. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have the veggie one,” he huffed, turning back around and strolling back to the car. The less
time he needed to withstand their poorly cloaked fencing the better.

The summer weather was still clinging on slightly, and he leaned back against the Rover, facing
the sun with closed eyes. He’d spent many hours outside in the sun that past summer, but it seemed
he couldn’t soak up enough serenity. Good moments always seemed to be erased by bad.

“How’s that waddle?”

He looked up, instantly recognising Louis’ voice, eyes quickly finding him standing just a couple
of feet away across the pavement. What waddle? he thought, feeling a surge of annoyance bubble
up. He could feel a very slight ache from the sex, but he doubted very much that it showed.

“Why?” he hissed back at Louis. He looked pleased, but not in a kind way. “Didn’t know you
cared so much about me.”

Louis seemingly found a way to appear confident and aggressive at the same time, but harmless all
the same. “I thought you were the one who cared about me. You practically begged me to fuck
you.”

The words had something tightening in his, because yes, the sex had been good, and it’d been nice
to feel like someone wanted him. Louis was suggesting it only happened because Harry had begged
him. He was a liar. It was all he ever did — lie. Harry knew for certain that he hadn’t begged
anyone, much less Louis Tomlinson, to have sex with him. All he’d done was make a suggestion,
and the guy had agreed.

He didn’t believe Louis was in love with him, or something as ridiculous. The thought hadn’t even
crossed his mind. He hadn’t even considered there was anything to be discussed regarding what
happened. What he should have expected was that Louis would try to twist the truth.

“I didn’t beg,” he growled. “And it was hardly any good, either.”

“Please,” scoffed Louis in response, suddenly moving closer. Harry hadn’t expected that. As a
matter of fact, he was wondering why Louis was even talking to him. Normally, Louis avoided him
in all public spheres outside of school, and Harry was nothing but pleased with that arrangement.
Why Louis was right there, chin pointed up and inches from his own, he couldn’t understand.

Nevertheless, he found the presence of Louis’ body disturbing in plenty of different ways, mere
inches separating them. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Louis’ hair was still wet from a shower.
And… his eyes were very blue.

“I fucked you into oblivion,” said Louis.

Jesus.

It was almost funny. Louis thinking it was amazing was both adorable and annoying.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He shoved him back, sufficiently creating some breathable space between
them. Louis rolled his eyes with that usual air of confidence.

“As if you wouldn’t do it again,” he grinned, brows arched and implying Harry didn’t know what.

Again?

Harry hadn’t even considered that. As far as his thoughts had ventured, this was an odd occurrence
in the nature of their universe. Was Louis thinking of doing it again?

Harry opened his mouth to reply, and to seriously question that very sentence. What did he mean
again?

But then Louis’ head jerked sideways. A blonde, younger girl and the guy Harry knew as Louis’
best mate walked out of the building. Louis sent Harry a last black-eyed stare and promptly turned
away. Harry watched as the three of them got into a car, Louis driving off without looking in his
direction again.

The normal thing would be to tell his best friend about having sex for the first time. That was
clearly the most normal thing. To tell every detail in detail, and discuss all of it in earnest.
Normally, from what he’d read in books and seen on telly, you’d discuss whether the person you’d
done it with liked you seriously, or whether it was only a one-time thing. In this case, Harry had all
the answers already. Louis didn’t like him, and he didn’t like Louis. There was no relationship to
consider. There obviously wouldn’t be another time. He told himself Louis’ words at the pizza
parlour were simply a part of his usual taunts.

Still, Harry had the urge to spit it out. What was the point of all the special things in life if you
couldn’t share them with others?

He didn’t want to tell Zayn about Louis. Harry had been right: Louis was gay, or perhaps bisexual,
but it wasn’t his secret to share about someone else. Louis wasn’t out, and Harry knew very well
how it felt just being threatened to be outed by someone. He couldn’t say whom he’d had sex with,
but perhaps he could simply say that he’d done it? He’d had sex, and that was special. He couldn’t
deny that.

Tuesday morning, Harry made the call to pick Zayn up before school. He had to discuss it
somehow. Plus, it was the normal thing to do.

I’ll pick you up at 7:30, he texted him, to which he received a response of emojis, one sleeping and
one of a gun. Love you, he wrote in reply.

That morning, Zayn climbed into his car, pulling a hood over his head. He’d thrown his leather
jacket on top, wearing it along with skinny jeans and cigarettes as usual. Harry felt rather unstylish
in comparison, dressed in training sweats and a t-shirt he planned to wear at practice. Truth be told,
he always felt a little bit inadequate next to Zayn. The guy was insanely attractive, with a razor-
sharp jawline, sparkling brown eyes, and a weirdly symmetrical face. He was tall, slim, and had a
tendency to look consistently at ease.

“What’s up?” said Zayn as Harry switched gear and began to make it down the street. His friend
rolled down the window and lit a cigarette.

“I need to tell you something.” His heart began to pound, slow and hard at first but speeding up as
he felt his friend’s eyes on his face. “Um.”
“Spit it out, mate,” he said after a couple of moments of silence.

“I just wanted to…” His throat hurt a little bit. “I wanted to enlighten you that I… I had sex with
someone.”

At first, Zayn was silent for a few seconds, and then he started to laugh. He sounded how Harry
imagined an angel with a nicotine addiction would. “Bloody hell! I thought you were going to tell
me something really serious.”

“It is serious!”

“That’s brilliant, man,” he grinned. He exhaled a bit of smoke. “When did it happen?”

“Er, yesterday,” said Harry, feeling a bit lighter inside. There was still a sense of discomfort within,
though, because he couldn’t share all of it.

“How’d it happen then?” Zayn looked happy, like he thought it all was entertaining. Harry
supposed it was. It was good gossip, really. Everyone loved a bit of drama. How to explain it,
without sharing too much, though?

“We did it at school,” he choked, and instantly realised how unbelievable that sounded.

Zayn chortled, as if to confirm, and then he was laughing more. “That’s mad. Crazy! Harry, my
lad! Never expected you to be that guy. I love it.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that, because indeed he didn’t really see himself as that
bloke, either. It was something someone else, in a tv-show perhaps, would do. Or maybe Stan,
from the footie team. Yeah, he could do some shit like that.

“Who was it?” asked Zayn inevitably, and Harry felt torn again.

They both fell silent as he didn’t respond right away. For a few minutes, he could see only the
streets ahead of them, his heart beating heavily once more. Now was the time to say it, to explain
that he was, in fact, homosexual. That he was gay, and that he hadn’t fucked anyone, rather the
other way around. However, he wasn’t sure he was comfortable speaking that into reality yet, and
he obviously had no clue if Louis Tomlinson was.

“I can’t say,” he said quietly, staring out the side window as they stopped at a red light. After a few
silent moments, he managed to look at his friend. Catching him off guard, Zayn’s eyes were soft as
he gazed back.

“Is it a bloke?” asked Zayn sincerely.

Harry’s heart dropped at the same time as his stomach took a leap. He hadn’t expected Zayn to
think that, and so easily, too. He had never told him about any of his inner conflicts about
sexuality. He had never told him a thing.
Strangely enough, it made him feel a tiny bit better. Maybe Zayn had always known? Just like
Harry had always suspected it before he knew?

However, a brief, small, scared part of him considered denying it. It would be easy, and he
wouldn’t have to be that guy. The gay one. But all the same, he knew that he indeed was that guy.
He was, and if he could just speak the words then he might actually feel some of that sought-after
freedom. Maybe if he said yes, he didn’t have to be so frightened other people would find out on
their own. Even if he couldn’t say it to his parents yet, maybe he could tell Zayn. He could simply
confirm it.

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded.

“Cool, man. I bet he’s really fit.”

Harry laughed quickly, taken by surprise by the sentence. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected to
hear from his straight friend, but it was good. And that was all he cared about. Zayn could’ve
probably said anything that wasn’t hurtful and Harry would be pleased as punch.

“He is,” he answered after a moment, deep down feeling a little pleased with that. Louis Tomlinson
was fit, but… that was about the only nice thing Harry could say about him.

They looked at each other, weird smiles on their faces. Harry felt like crying.

A loud honk bleared from behind them.

“Ah, fuck,” he swore, looking ahead and realising the traffic lights were screaming in green in
front of them. He put the car in gear and they drove off. As they did, Harry felt Zayn’s hand close
around his bicep in a tight squeeze.

For the rest of the day, Harry felt like he was walking on clouds. Relief was what it was. Arriving
at school, he felt a tad braver striding across the parking lot. He was next to his best pal, and the
feeling of just one person knowing and accepting his true self was overwhelmingly comforting. He
felt better than usual as he fetched his books from his locker; Zayn was by his side, and he didn’t
have to worry in case Jasmine popped up. At least, Zayn would already know if she decided to
blurt it out.

Harry found himself leaning a bit further back in his seat in class, his breathing coming a little
easier. His jaw couldn’t stop itself from chewing swiftly on the gum in his mouth, though. The
stress hadn’t entirely evaporated, and it didn’t exactly help that Tomlinson loudly strode into class
ten minutes late, brushing his training bag roughly into Harry’s arm as he passed his table. He sent
Louis a glare, but subsequently decided not to engage. The guy was as self-absorbed as any other
day of the week, and Harry didn’t want Louis to think he suddenly wanted to interact with him. He
was used to Louis pestering him; he didn’t tend to seek Louis out to do the same.

Furthermore, Louis’ words from the other night were still ringing in his ears. As if you wouldn’t do
it again. Was Louis actually thinking that Harry wanted to be in his proximity? Like at all? Was he
actually that stupid? It had been a blur of sexual frustration, and simply the heat of the moment.
Harry hadn’t forgotten the fact that Louis had practically bullied him for three years straight. He
had more respect for himself than to be into someone like Louis Tomlinson.

Thankfully, Louis disappeared without hesitation after class. Since they didn’t have more lectures
together that day, Harry didn’t have to worry about sharing his toxic space. He was fairly sure that
Louis didn’t intend to talk to him at school, either, considering how the conversation had gone
outside the pizza parlour. Louis had been frustratingly provocative as usual, but as soon as his
friends had shown up, he’d shut his mouth and stridden off. Harry concluded that Louis wasn’t
very interested in letting anyone know there was anything more than hate between them. Which
there wasn’t, of course.

As the school day finally came to an end, Harry hurried towards the locker room. He spotted Louis
already on the football pitch, running along the edges at a swift pace, as he reached the small
building. He pushed inside the locker room, inhaling that slight bit of peace knowing that Jasmine
wouldn’t be able to catch him in there. He took his time, as usual, making use of each and every
last second. As he did, his mind ran over some ideas for the next day’s practice, recalling a couple
of exercises he’d seen in a training video he’d found online the previous night.

“’Sup, mate,” he heard Ed’s voice at one point, followed by the greetings of the rest of the team as
they entered, changed, and exited. By the time there were two minutes left until practice started,
Harry grabbed his training jacket and bag and headed out to the pitch. He kept his eyes peeled for
any group of girls, just in case.

Louis was standing at the edge of the grass, drinking from a water bottle. He was in the red training
jersey like everybody else, each of the boys lighting up the green pitch in spots of Donny-red.
Louis looked the same as everyone else, so why he instantaneously stood out in Harry’s vision was
questionable. The guy looked like he always did — well, thinking about it, his hair was unusually
vivid, perhaps affected by the humidity in the air. It kind of reminded Harry of how it had looked
the day before… And then the memories were back in full effect; the warmth of Louis’ skin, the
feel of his muscular legs between his, the way his breath felt in the crook of his shoulder. It had
been a whole day since, and Harry could almost feel Louis’ fingers on his skin all over again.

Stop it, he thought. How could replaying those memories even be normal? He didn’t know anyone
who’d slept with someone that repulsed them on a deeply personal level, so it wasn’t like he could
find out. Louis was an idiot, so why did the way his hair look make Harry think about his naked
stomach? Fuck’s sake.

Harry’s eyes were still locked on Louis Tomlinson as he approached the pitch, and he suddenly
found him staring right back at him. For a couple of seconds, their eyes met. Louis’ eyes were
harshly squinted, a firm frown on his face and an irate twist at his mouth.

What now? thought Harry, knowing the sharpness in Louis’ face meant something was coming out
of his mouth any second. He knew it, awaited it, and then Louis’ lips parted, and —

“Hi, Louis!”

Harry stopped dead. Louis’ eyes left him, and he could only watch in despair as Louis turned to
face the bleachers behind him. To face Jasmine.

For the first time in months, Harry was forced to actually look at her. He couldn’t turn and run
away, because she was right there in his eye-line. Her dark, long hair splayed over a tight, long-
sleeved shirt, and her lips were stretched into a wide smile, looking straight at Louis Tomlinson. If
it were a normal situation, Harry might’ve worried about seeing two people he’d been with very
intimately talking to each other. Jasmine was his ex in practicality, but he didn’t tend to think about
her that way. He’d never been in love with her, and he knew he couldn’t feel that for her. He didn’t
see her as his ex. Louis, he did not even consider a person in his life, and absolutely not an ex, or
even a fucking love interest. But… seeing Louis interact with her was odd.

It wasn’t what made him feel like vomiting, though. It was the other thing.
He watched in horror as Louis lifted his hand in a wave. He couldn’t see his face when he did it,
but when he turned around again and found Harry looking, he glared and barked, “What are you
looking at, Styles?”

Harry turned away, swallowing down the hardest knot of panic he had felt in a long time. All he
could do was get on with football training, but all the same, he knew she was there. Panicked
thoughts screamed in his head as they went through the drills. Was she talking to her friends about
him right now? Was she telling her mate Isabella all about how Harry despised the gorgeous Louis
Tomlinson who clearly was the superior football player and better person? Did she talk about how
Harry had kissed her on her bed in an attempt to stop her from talking about their relationship so
much? Was she telling them how disgusting he was for letting her undress in front of him, only to
humiliate her when he couldn’t go through with it? Was she telling them that he was fucking gay?

“Right, it’s time to get those calves burning, lads,” announced Louis at the end of the hour.

Harry, yearning to escape Jasmine’s watchful eyes, approached him. “Come on. You made them
run ten laps yesterday. Give them a break.”

He could see Louis’ immediate reaction to being challenged, and he seemed to raise his posture
slightly as they found themselves closer than they’d been in days.

“How do you expect the boys to play ninety minutes when they’re in bad shape?” He looked at the
lads. “You, go run. Now!” His scowl flashed as he addressed the team.

Harry had eyes. He, too, had noticed that some of the boys hadn’t kept a regular training regimen
over the summer, but he also wasn’t stupid. “The season’s just started. You can’t go all-in from the
start. You need to build it up. The body —”

“Shut the fuck up, Styles! I don’t need your biology lessons. They should be in shape, and they
should keep their fitness up outside of practice on their own. If we want to fucking win this season,
every single person needs to be in shape.” He took a short breath, but continued briskly. “You can
do your freaking yoga and granola stretches or whatever asparagus shit you like on Wednesdays,
but today I run practice, and you better start the drills before I snap your neck.” At that he quickly
turned around, sprinting down the pitch.

Asparagus shit?

The bloke was fucking mad.

Harry stared after him. Had he ever eaten granola? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he truly
didn’t have to worry about Louis’ words, because they clearly had absolutely zero meaning.

As if you wouldn’t do it again.

The bloke was fucking insane.

Fifteen minutes later, they had all pushed themselves to the limit, rushing back and forth on the
track lines next to the pitch. As they gathered their belongings, Harry kept his head firmly towards
the grass, avoiding the bleachers. He barely dared look at them.

“Good job, boys,” he told the group as he grabbed his bag, but only received tired and frustrated
looks in return. “Sorry,” he muttered when Louis couldn’t hear. “Tomorrow will be better.”

It wasn’t until he neared the edge of the pitch that she appeared. He nearly jumped out of his skin
when he spotted her waiting at the corner of the bleachers. She was just a girl, but to him, she
might as well have been holding him at gunpoint.

“Harry, do you mind —”

He cringed instantly. “Stay away from me.” He backed away towards the parking lot. “I mean it.
Leave me alone.”

With that he jogged away, hurrying to the car. Cold sweat itched his neck, but it didn’t bother him.
Nothing ever honestly tortured him unless it had to do with her.

Zayn was waiting at the car when Harry showed up. His chest was still aching with anxiety, and he
yanked the door open as fast as he could.

“What’s going on?” Zayn’s voice was concerned as he followed him inside. He eyed Harry
carefully as he started the engine and swerved towards the parking lot exit. “What happened,
man?”

Harry couldn’t answer, and they rode in silence for a few minutes. His mind kept repeating the way
Jasmine had smiled as she’d stood across from Louis. It was unsettling, the entire thing! Did she
know something? No. She couldn’t. How could she? He thoroughly doubted Louis even knew her,
and he knew for sure that Jasmine had never been anywhere socially close to Louis’ group of
friends. There was no way that she knew Harry had slept with Louis Tomlinson.

But. She knew that he was gay. And he knew that she was angry with him. Furthermore, he knew
that she was still so angry that she was considering telling the whole school his secret. Now, it
seemed like she’d actually run out of patience. She wasn’t just texting him threats. She’d actually
started to approach him. The worst of it all was that she had approached Louis Tomlinson first. To
her, the person Harry would least of all want to share his most private details with.

Harry let out a thick breath, starting to feel a strange pounding in his neck. It was kind of painful,
and his head was beginning to feel a little bit muddy.

“Harry.”

He heard Zayn’s voice next to him, but he only shook his head. He blinked, clenching his teeth as
his eyes began to find focus again. They kept driving in silence.

“Harry,” said Zayn calmly after a while. “Harry, you’ve passed my house. Just stop the car, mate.”

What?

Harry looked to his right, surprising himself by finding that they’d indeed passed Zayn’s home,
now a few hundred yards down the same street. He slowly pulled over, stopping the car at the curb
outside an unfamiliar house.

“Is it about the guy?” asked Zayn, glancing at him, face slightly tilted his way.

Harry took a breath, fingers running through his hair. He struck a few curls on his forehead from
his eyes. “Kind of, I guess,” he admitted.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Not with him, I mean.”

Zayn raised a brow. “What’s up then? I mean, I saw Jas following you.”
“She’s mad,” whispered Harry. “Crazy.”

Zayn smiled faintly. “I know we didn’t really talk about it much, but… now that you’ve told me
you’ve got a bloke —”

“I don’t have a bloke,” Harry interjected quickly. Louis was by no means his bloke. Louis
Tomlinson was a nutcase.

He nodded. “All right, but since you slept with him… Is that why she’s ticked off? Because you’re,
well, gay?”

Harry closed his eyes, forehead falling to the glass of the side window. The slight cold of it felt
soothing. “Yes.”

“What a twat.”

Harry cleared his throat. “She thinks I used her. She’s not like, homophobic. I think.” His heart rate
was beginning to slow, but he didn’t feel normal yet. He never felt normal when he thought about
her. All he felt thinking about his former best friend and brief girlfriend was how not normal he
was. How horrendously abnormal she made him feel.

“What does she want?”

Harry needed the conversation to be over. It was enough. He wanted to go home and hide under the
covers of his bed.

“I don’t know,” he lied, and straightened up in his seat. “Um, I have to make it back home. I think
my mum wanted to have dinner together.” Another lie.

He reversed down the street and let Zayn out, but not before his friend grabbed his shirt sleeve and
said, “Let me know if you need to talk.”

Harry watched him light a cigarette outside his house, and for a short moment, he wished they
could trade lives. If they could switch right then, he could simply take hold of that cigarette, finish
it, stride into the house, and have four sisters and two supportive parents surrounding him in a beat.
But he wouldn’t want to give Zayn his life. He wouldn’t want to give it to anyone, he supposed.

The following morning Harry woke up late. He had stayed up for several hours, unable to sleep.
His fingers kept scrolling through old text messages between him and Jasmine, worry eating him
up from the inside. When he’d finally fallen asleep, the sun had already begun to rise.

He threw the first clothes he could find on and shoved his unruly hair into a small knot on top of
his head, ridding his eyes of the hair. He jumped into the car without eating breakfast, and as he
left the curb in a hurry he was briefly grateful he’d left his football equipment in the car the
previous night. At least he had his cleats.

Unfortunately, the school lot was almost filled by the time he arrived. There was no way he’d be
able to grab a spot at the front, which meant there was more time for Jasmine to catch him as he
made his way inside the building. It bothered him, and as if to confirm his worries he noticed her
standing near a car at the end of the lot. Harry couldn’t stop there, and he circled for almost five
minutes before he noticed a free spot somewhat closer to the school, away from her.

The only issue seemed to be that there was another car heading right towards that particular spot.
Harry recognised the vehicle as he pressed down on the gas. It was Louis — who else? The guy
would be freaking livid about this, but that didn’t matter now. Had it been another car, Harry still
would have done it.

He pulled what was probably the shittiest move in the book, and blocked Louis’ car in a precarious
move that could easily have scratched his paint job and dented Louis’ front in the process. Louis
came to a screeching halt before that could happen, and Harry smoothly slid into the parking spot.
He grabbed his belongings and jumped out of the Rover. As he did, he glanced over at Louis’ car
— a blue, older vehicle with dusty rims. He found the guy scowling from inside it.

Harry didn’t find it hard to admit that despite the circumstances, pissing Louis off was perpetually
entertaining. It felt deserved, too, seeing as Louis hadn’t stopped being a dick since they fucking
met. Harry sent a grin at Louis through the of windshield the car, and added an obnoxious wave
before striding off towards the school building.

Zayn met him by the lockers, and Harry once again felt a little bit safer. The classes that day were
unusually slow; history was long and confusing, maths particularly gruesome, P.E. naturally easy,
but French class worrisome as he hadn’t even come close to finishing his homework. Mrs. Jones
gave him shit for it, too, and Zayn wasn’t of any help. When Harry looked at him for guidance, he
only muttered some shit like Je m’apelle Zayn.

Harry didn’t know how, but by the time he got ready for practice, he’d managed to escape Jasmine
throughout the whole day. Perhaps that day, just today, he’d have a somewhat normal, good day.

He ran footie training as he’d planned it. They warmed up using traditional exercises, after which
Harry added a few new ideas he’d come up with. The moves had the lads laughing once they
realised that even though they looked silly, they definitely weren’t easy. Even Louis seemed to get
a bit winded, though he hardly admitted to such a thing.

About halfway through, the loud noise of people chatting reached them from the bleachers. Harry
blanched as he noticed a cluster of girls heading into some seats, but this time he refused to even
look at them. He didn’t want to see Jasmine, and he definitely didn’t want to hear her call out for
Louis Tomlinson with her preciously innocent smiles. He ignored the spike of anxiety within, and
pretended the people on the bleachers didn’t exist as best as he could.

Towards the end, Coach stepped in and asked them to practice something technical of their own
that they thought required improvement. Coach Abrahams was planning to chat with each of the
players in the forthcoming weeks and needed some of the boys’ attention during the last few
minutes.

“Do you mind shooting some penalties at me?” their goalkeeper asked Harry. His name was Liam,
and he was a rather quiet but self-assured boy, with bushy eyebrows and brown eyes. He’d been a
keeper since Harry had started on the team, but he didn’t actually know him that well. He knew he
was rather popular, and believed he was fairly good friends with Zayn, but that was about all.

“Sure,” he agreed.

“Thanks. I really think I need to get better ‘cause last year I didn’t even save one.”

It wasn’t like they ever expected as much from the keeper, but one or two saves could actually win
them matches in the future. Harry glanced at the nearest goal, but then remembered the throng of
girls on the bleachers.

“Um, let’s go to the other side,” he suggested. Liam didn’t question it, and the two of them jogged
down to the far end. Unless the girls moved, they’d be far away enough.

They spent the next few minutes practicing penalties. Harry tried his best not to make the shots too
difficult, but every time his foot hit the ball, he couldn’t help it. He wasn’t sure if he was
imagining it, because he hadn’t actually seen Jasmine among the girls, but he felt like there were
eyes on his neck. It made his whole body stiffen, and each time he kicked the ball it was too hard
and it kept hitting the net behind Liam unintentionally.

“If you’d actually practice something you don’t already know how to do, maybe we’ll win a game
or two.”

Naturally — seeing as Harry already knew he wasn’t helping Liam much — Louis had to interrupt
and point it out, too. Harry turned around, unable to keep his annoyance internal.

“And what have you been practicing?”

Louis stared defiantly back at him. “Things that will improve my game. Penalties occur in three out
of fifteen matches, statistically. I doubt you’ll need much more training. Why don’t you go dribble
some cones, or something?”

Harry wanted to laugh. He seriously doubted those were actual statistics. If he knew Louis
correctly, he simply blurted out whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. It really pissed Harry
off, actually.

“Are you really telling me what to do?” he said through his teeth.

“No. Just giving you advice,” replied Louis, and a sudden smirk erupted on his sharp face. “You’ll
be needing it.” His eyes seemed to glint with something unbeknownst to Harry, and then he was
walking off.

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Harry followed him, fed up with Louis’ meaningless
blather. The boy just kept talking, and it was purely senseless most of the time.

He reached out to grab Louis’ shoulder without having actually considered the action. Louis
swiftly turned around at the touch, and firmly tugged the hand off himself.

“I just meant that if you keep up with your rabbit exercises and only shoot penalties at Liam, then
you might not spot on the team anymore.”

Harry almost walked off. He was the team captain for God’s sake. Was Louis stupid?

“I’m the best player on the team. Stop talking a bunch of crap,” he said sharply. Enough already.

“You’re not the best player on the team,” Louis savagely declared. “You’re seventh. Might pass for
sixth.”

Harry stared at him. Sixth? He shook his head and began to leave. “Why am I even having this
conversation with you?”

To his exasperation, Louis was following. He came into pace right next to Harry, looking weirdly
cheeky as they approached the edge of the pitch. Harry pretended the overall look on him wasn’t
objectively attractive.

“Because you just can’t stay away from me,” he chirped in response to Harry, whose words had
been more rhetorical than anything else. “I thought we’d established this — you’re in love with
me.”

Harry grabbed his bag from the grass and started towards the locker rooms. He instantly regretted
even thinking that Louis looked fit, but truthfully there was nothing to be done about that. Louis
looked fit every single day — it didn’t make him any less of an idiot.

“You’re so full of yourself, you know that?” he hissed at Louis when he still didn’t go away. “Shut
the fuck up and leave me alone, will you?”

He kept following closely, voice bright. “Not until you admit you have a huge, flaming crush on
me. I don’t blame you. I’m good-looking.”

So, Louis did know he was fit. Harry sincerely hoped the guy at least wasn’t conceited enough to
truly believe that Harry had a crush on him.

“And how the fuck have you come to that conclusion? You’re such a tit. You think everyone likes
you! Open your fucking eyes.”

Louis’ voice was colder then. “Open my eyes? If anyone should, it’s you. From this morning I’d
think you’re fucking blind.”

Realisation hit Harry. He had almost forgotten the parking lot incident that morning. “Is that what
this is about?” He opened the door to the locker room, allowing himself a small laugh at the fact
that Louis was still pissed about it. Harry pushed it further. “Me taking a spot I got to before you?
You’re going to annoy me into suicide because I took the spot you wanted?”

Louis’ voice was unexpectedly loud behind Harry as he pushed inside the locker room. “That’s my
spot! You and your obnoxious car have never parked there, so why the fuck would you now?
Everybody knows that’s my spot!”

A rapid sense of indignation burst through Harry. He forced himself not to yell. “Everything isn’t
about you, Louis.”

Harry’s phone rang at that, interrupting the argument. He felt slightly relieved because, honestly,
he hated these arguments with Louis. The guy had a strange ability to always seem like he was
right. He was aggressive and unrelenting. Like a little bulldog with a bone. Or a squirrel with a nut.
Harry almost laughed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, my dear.” It was his mum. Harry stilled, turning his back towards Louis, hoping the bloke
would finally stop talking. “Are you still busy at school?”

“Almost finished.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m going out of town for at least a week.”

Oh.

“I thought you’d be home, though.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I need to work. I’ve already left Doncaster, nearly in Liverpool now.”

“Right,” Harry snapped. “See you next week then.”

“Love you, my darling —”

He ended the call. Of course. She was going away, as usual missing his free weekends and football
matches. It’s not like he’d warned her about the upcoming game that Friday, though. He hardly
talked to his mum about football, so. What did it matter if she wasn’t there?

Louis’ snarky voice cut through the air. “Was that your mum? Are you guys gonna’ fight over
pizza tonight, too?”

Harry was used to Louis taunting him. He was used to being provoked, to have everything about
himself joked about. He could deal with it. What he absolutely could not deal with, however, was
Louis taking the piss out of his family.

He jerked around, all of him suddenly aflame. “Why don’t you just mind your own fucking
business?”

Louis looked victorious, his blue eyes shining. He raised his hands. “Oops! Sorry! Sensitive
much…?”

Harry despised him. “Why do you always feel the need to be such a snarky little brat? Honest
question.”

Louis’ eyes instantly changed from glittering in blue to darkness. “Why are you so bloody
pretentious and condescending?” he retorted, furiously glaring up at Harry. He had walked closer,
chin protruding and body tensely squared.

“I’m not condescending,” he asserted, intentionally mean. “It’s not my fault you feel inferior by
nature.”

Louis didn’t falter. “I don’t feel inferior.”

Harry didn’t relent, either. “Sure, you don’t.” He wanted to break him down. And then he wanted
to break his fit fucking face. “You feel so strong and powerful all the time. It’s why you feel the
need to push everybody else down and make people feel bad so that you’ll feel even bigger and
better. You’re so confident, love being yourself, that you have to fight so hard to —”

All Harry heard after that was a growl, and then the wind was knocked out of him as Louis’ body
slammed into his own. Louis collided with him, pushing his body against the wall of lockers
behind him. Louis’ shoulder pressed forcefully against Harry’s chest, and pain ached from the
middle of his back and down from the blow against the lockers.

Harry instantly tried to get Louis off him. He didn’t want him close. He wanted him far, far away.
He managed to seize Louis’ jersey and tugged him off himself, subsequently thrusting him back,
away and off.

Space between them finally, Harry could breathe. The pain from Louis’ attack faded swiftly, but
the real reason he could breathe easier was that Louis wasn’t right there, in his space, talking and
talking, and touching.

The only problem was that now that he was far away, Harry could look at him properly. He could
see all of Louis, and Louis was staring straight back at him as though he could read his mind.
Because, of course, at one point they would both remember. And right then they were both
remembering at the same time.

Louis was staring, and not at Harry’s eyes. He was staring at his mouth.

Harry could pretend, and he could pretend all day. Most of the time he didn’t pretend. Louis was
drop-dead gorgeous, and even though Harry hated him most of the time, his body didn’t seem able
to screen it. Nothing appeared to be able to keep Harry from feeling it.

Louis looked exactly like he did when Harry was under him. Only two days ago. And if Harry
remembered correctly, Louis had wanted to fuck him really fucking badly.

Something grasped hold of Harry again, and he took two long steps forward and crowded into
Louis’ space. He buried his face in Louis’ neck, and they fell back against the lockers on the
opposite side. In a moment’s time, they were tangled around each other, leaning against the cold
metal, thighs pressing fervently against one another.

If Louis looked amazing, then the way he felt was unbelievable. The tickle of his breath against the
side of Harry’s jaw, his hands around his body, his thigh between Harry’s, made him hard in pure
seconds. His face angled down, and he could barely keep it together as Louis’ fingers dug into his
back, under his shirt. His teeth sank into the skin at the crook of Louis’ neck, keeping a long groan
inside as he pressed his hips into Louis’.

Harry could smell Louis’ skin — better, he could taste it. He felt the heat of Louis’ blood pumping,
tasted the salty sweat, smelled that hint of grass, and became totally and completely absorbed in the
sensation of Louis Tomlinson.

This was different. Hotter. Louis was freakishly quiet, but Harry could only find pleasure in the
way he breathed so raggedly against him. Harry hadn’t known something with clothes still on
could feel so fucking good.

Louis’ hands moved down his back, causing shivers to erupt over Harry’s skin. Louis’ hands were
sure and swift as he pushed Harry’s footie shorts down in hungry movements, quickly followed by
his own. They both bucked their hips forward, and Harry didn’t know if he was shaking or Louis
was.

“Fuck,” he exhaled against Louis’ neck.

“Shut up.”

Louis’ hands were around Harry’s arse, squeezing him closer and simultaneously leaning back
against the lockers behind them. His chin was inched upwards, exposing his throat and Adam’s
apple in a delicious way. Harry wanted to press his nose right back against his throat. He loved the
smell of grass, and Louis, probably just as in love with football as Harry was, smelled exactly like
sweat and grass. Harry couldn’t believe how amazing this was.

An ear-piercingly loud noise from the front door made Harry fly back from Louis. He didn’t know
whether he’d jumped or if Louis had pushed him away, or perhaps both at the same time. But all of
a sudden Harry was cut off from the heavenly scent of Louis Tomlinson, and standing cold and
alone in the middle of the room.

“Lewis! Where are you? Conditioning your hair?”

Harry stared at Louis in shock, unable to do anything.

“Niall!” Louis shouted, panic evident in his strained voice. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Jesus Christ, man, you’re slow. Everyone’s gone.”

The voice was coming closer, and Harry shrank back into the nearest corner, pulling his shorts up
hurriedly.
 “Niall, leave! I’ll be out. Just wait by the car.”

“I have actually seen you naked before.”

Closer.

Louis’ voice was getting desperate, and Harry could not keep his alarmed eyes off him. “Jesus,
Niall. Just fucking leave, please!”

“Whatever. I know you dress to the left, man. Chill.” There was a moment of silence, then, “Fine.”

It took a few moments, and then the door slammed shut once more.

Louis was moving in flashes straight away. “Motherfucker.” He was gathering his things, mixing
his dirty boots with his fresh clothes, and all Harry could do was stare. Louis walked out of the
room without a glance back.

Harry sank down to the floor. It took five minutes before his heart rate began to slow.

Chapter End Notes

If you want to say hi:

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 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Louis Tomlinson was avoiding Harry. Harry only knew that, because all he could personally think
about was Louis Tomlinson.

It had been a week since the incident in the locker room. At night, Harry’s head swivelled with
memories; Louis’ scent, his warmth, his body, the crook of his shoulder, and his gorgeous fucking
face. During the daytime, he was reminded of what a freaking idiot the guy was.

It was all very confusing.

Louis didn’t talk to Harry. They had never talked, but now Louis all of sudden wasn’t even taking
his time to sneer at him in the hallways or to taunt him at footie training. It was kind of nice, in a
way. As though a constant ringing in his ears had suddenly evaporated. However, Harry wasn’t
dumb enough not to realise that it meant something had changed. Something had changed for
Louis, and that worried him. He didn’t know what Louis was thinking, and Louis was historically
an extremely unpredictable person. Any sudden shifts in his mindset could have considerable
effects on Harry’s life. It all reminded him how little he knew about Louis’ thoughts on the whole
thing. All Harry could do was guess, and he didn’t like that. He had to at least know a share of
what Louis was thinking.

As the week had progressed, it had become impossible to catch Louis alone, even for a moment to
talk. Louis still played dictator in each of his footie practices, but when Harry was still fuming in
the locker room, Louis was quiet and distant. But say Harry did manage to catch Louis on his own,
he didn’t know what to say. Sure, having sex together had been nice and all, and certainly the
following escapade had been a wonderful, blissful experience, but what was there to say, really?
There definitely was no relationship to discuss, and no feelings there. But they had to at least come
to an agreement on how to deal with the incidents. More precisely, agree on not telling anyone
about it.

The days kept snowballing, and Harry didn’t find a proper minute to talk to Louis about any of it.
All of a sudden Friday had approached, and along with it the premiere of football season. Harry’s
mother was still touring cities for her gallery, and Harry didn’t really know what his father was up
to that night. He didn’t particularly want to go home and find out, so he ended up eating a box of
salad he’d bought in the school cafeteria in his car between school and football. He was nervous,
but he did feel excited for the first time in a long while. Louis’ dictatorship had cast a shadow over
football lately, but today he felt eager. Finally, after three long months, they would be playing a
match. It was like finally getting to stretch his legs after a long car ride. Harry needed this.

Warm-up felt decent. His body was cooperating, and the rest of the boys seemed mentally
prepared. Harry’s mood got better the closer to kick-off they got, and by the time they were having
their last rundown in the locker room, he was barely able to keep himself from jumping up and
down with adrenaline. Louis was sitting on the bench, wide-legged with his hands interlocked
between his knees. His eyes were closed, a little like he was praying. Harry knew better than to
think that, though, because he’d seen Louis do it before each and every match they’d played
together. A ritual of some sort, finding clear and honest focus.

Louis wore the captain’s armband that match. Harry resented it, but figured it didn’t matter in the
end. In his own calculations, if they wore it every other match, by the time they reached the
championship final Harry would be in charge. To get there, though, they still had to win.

The opposing team was from another school near Manchester, and they knocked the wind out of
Harry’s team immediately. It was as if some of the boys hadn’t expected that another team was as
good as them, and it showed. After thirty minutes Stan made an ugly foul, and Harry had to keep
himself from shouting in anger. They had talked about this. If you needed to make a slide tackle
you were already in the wrong position to start with. Louis was right there, up in the referee’s face,
maddened by the free-kick. Harry knew he was out of bounds, and he was lucky he wasn’t
receiving a warning the way he was mouthing off.

They lined up in a defensive wall, Freddie lying down behind their legs in case the kicker decided
to shoot under the wall instead of over. It was part of Messi’s legacy, and even school teams tended
to try it once in a while. Harry felt his teammates’ shoulders against his own, and crossed his hands
over his groin out of habit. The ref blew the whistle, and the player from the other team took three
determined steps and hit the ball. It went high. The boys jumped, attempting to block it in the air. It
bounced off Jonah’s shoulder and continued at an odd angle. The sudden change in direction of the
ball put Liam completely out of reach. He’d been on the way to the right corner, but with the
unexpected touch, there was nothing he could do. The other team scored.

Harry clenched his fists and yelled out in frustration. “Fuck!”

It was one of those things, that just happened sometimes. Unfortunate and unfair, and yet there was
nothing they could do. They were down by one, and as though to emphasise the misfortune the
grey sky slowly began to trickle down on them. By the time the first half was over, the rain was
more or less skyfall.

Harry was almost relieved when the ref called for halftime break. They needed to regroup. He
could feel the tension within the team, and there was more frustration than mental focus out there
on the pitch. Coach ranted at them angrily at first, trying to knock some sense in their heads, but
soon added on encouragements. He knew they could win, and Harry was certain of it, too. The only
issue was that Louis wouldn’t pass him the ball. He’d had several openings towards the last
minutes, but Louis didn’t seem to even look at him. As per usual, Harry didn’t exist. They couldn’t
have that, not tonight. Not when they were losing.

Just as they were about to stride back onto the pitch, Harry stopped him, grabbing his jersey to
force him to actually listen. Louis stared back at him, surprised but angered at the sudden force.
His hair was soaked in rain, and for once he looked a little more pale than usual under the
fluorescent lights. He wasn’t happy with how the match was playing out, either.

“Pass me the fucking ball, fuckhead,” Harry demanded. All he could do was hope that Louis had
enough wit to win out his mind-boggling sense of pride.

They started off well. The lads were more focused, and there was better precision in their passes.
The boys were moving without the ball now, eager to create space and new opportunities to move
forward in the field. But a football match was only ninety minutes, and the stoppage time four
mere minutes that night. When the fourth ref announced the stoppage, they had yet to score. The
other team was winning, and they only had minutes left to do something about it.

Harry was moving around as best as he could, but the midfield had trouble getting the ball past the
other team’s second row of pressured defence. He felt the rain sinking through his clothes, turning
them slick around his body. He didn’t care about the cold, or the fact that the inside of his thigh
was pounding from getting hit by a knee at a point he couldn’t even remember, he just needed the
boys to get their heads together and turn the trick.
Finally, with only a couple of minutes left, Louis received the ball from the defence. He began
dashing down the pitch, with ease keeping the ball close on his toes as he swerved around the
opposing players as he’d never done anything else in his life. Realising the threat of his movements
and losing his cool, the player marking Harry left him with several feet of space. Harry was
basically alone, and if Louis would look up, he would notice it. All he had to do was pass the ball.

Nevertheless, Louis was Louis. Harry was furious, but certainly not surprised when Louis kept
charging on, without glancing around. He dribbled, almost making a fool of the other team’s
defence line; he was so superior against some of them. If Harry hadn’t been completely unmarked
on the right side of the penalty area, he would have probably praised the skill. But Louis’ flow
couldn’t last forever. With one player left to circumvent, Louis could have easily passed Harry the
ball. They were two against one. Of course, Louis didn’t acknowledge Harry’s existence. Instead,
Harry watched in horror as Louis deceived the player, went on, and was then knocked in the
shoulder from a completely fair angle, losing the ball.

Harry couldn’t even yell. He didn’t have words for the utter madness he’d just watched. He could
only stare at Louis’ distressed face as the opposing team sent the ball away and up the midfield.
Inside, there was outrage.

Despite the whole team’s disappointment, just like with the first goal they’d conceded, there was
little they could do to fix this, either. Harry felt his nerves boiling within, but he attempted to keep
face and get his legs to move. Meanwhile, anger swirled in circles throughout his body, because
once again Louis Tomlinson had been determined to entirely disregard that Harry was a viable,
breathing, living member of the team. Just like during team practice not so long ago, when Harry
had desired nothing more than crushing his face under his knuckles, Louis had cost them a vital
opportunity. They could’ve been walking off with one point in their pockets — if not three, then
one was indubitably better than nil.

For a short moment, Harry pondered it. It was odd how weird the thought was. The fact that Louis
— who was so determined to win the league and fought Harry consistently in order for them, in his
point of view, to do so — could hate him so much that he would deny the team and himself a clear
stepping stone to the trophy. All because of his hatred for Harry. It was either that, or Louis simply
was stupid. Perhaps he really did think he had a better chance of scoring, and if he couldn’t do it
himself, then Harry certainly would have no chance. Perhaps Louis did have the IQ of floating
jellyfish.

Harry didn’t have time to think more of that, however, because not long after Louis’ misfortune,
the midfielder of the opposing team became a little too eager. He tried to cut in behind Freddie,
who instantly blocked the attempt and managed to regain the ball. Unlike Louis, Freddie didn’t try
to make a king out of himself, and instantly after stealing the ball made a hard pass up towards
Stan. Full of momentum from his quick race down the pitch, Stan easily overtook his defender.
Harry was in a good position. There was one more defender, but he wasn’t near enough to intercept
the pass that Stan sent him.

And then it was like magic. Suddenly football was easy. It was simple. The ball landed in front of
him, he snatched it and brought it forward in one touch. At the right edge of the penalty area,
Harry’s foot hit the ball in a straight, hard ankle shot. It flew — no, soared. Football was beautiful.

It went in. He barely felt it as his back hit the ground, the boys of the team piling on top of him. He
couldn’t help laughing, both from the weight on top of his chest and the pure glee of the moment.
This was what football was supposed to be. It was supposed to be exciting and laced with moments
like these.
“You goddamn madman!” Ed shouted in his ear. His hands grabbed the front of Harry’s jersey,
shaking him violently. “Madman!”

Harry laughed blissfully as they got up. He didn’t have much time to collect himself, but managed
to get positioned on the correct side of the pitch for the opposing team’s kick-off. The stoppage
time had to be over, and sure enough, just seconds after kick-off the ref was ending the match with
a couple of hard whistle blows.

They had done it. They hadn’t won, but it sure felt like it. Harry wrapped his arms around his
nearest teammate and felt only joy as more players came over to share hugs. He didn’t know a
better feeling than this. It was pure bliss.

“Brilliant,” said Coach Abrahams, posture filled with pride. “As always, Styles.”

“Thank you,” grinned Harry. This was what he had to do. Exactly this. This was how he proved his
worth.

“You, too, Freddie!” said Coach. “Don’t think I didn’t see that over-step!”

He couldn’t help but grin as he watched Coach praise the boys, lightly punch their shoulders, and
compliment their winner’s attitude. The crowd from the bleachers was beginning to disperse, many
of them coming onto the field to congratulate and praise. Harry watched his teammates’ families
join them, and smiled gratefully at some of their parents’ “Good game!” and “Fantastic as always!”
directed at himself. Mostly he just watched his teammates and their friends.

The bliss began to quietly die down. As he glanced around, he noticed Louis Tomlinson heading
down towards the locker rooms. There were a few people standing there, waiting for him. Harry
recognised the blond boy and girl, whom he’d seen at the pizza parlour the week before. There was
also a woman; Louis’ mother. Harry knew it was her because he’d seen her at their matches many
times before. She wasn’t too tall, had long brown hair, and a rounded body. She was holding a
glittery sign, the number 28 glistening on it in red. They were all huddled under umbrellas. Harry
watched Louis walk straight past them without much of a greeting, stalking towards the locker
room with fast but seemingly heavy steps.

Louis had been extremely lucky. Harry was not happy with him, and he truly doubted anyone else
on the team was, either. The thoughts that had flashed through Harry’s mind earlier on the pitch
recurred when he was getting undressed and heading into the showers along with the other boys.
The lads were singing and chanting, and while it made Harry feel a bit of that glee, he also couldn’t
keep himself from thinking back to Louis. The boy bothered the hell out of him, naturally, but due
to recent events, he had started to ponder Louis’ hatred for him more than ever. Had he actually
ever done something that had hurt his feelings? Not that he could remember.

The warm shower was unbelievably satisfactory. The hot water melted away all of the cold rain
and mud that had clung to him for the last two and a half hours. They finished slowly, talks of the
match taking up most of their time and occupying both minds and excited hands. Harry finally got
ready, dressing in thick socks, sweatpants, and a warm hoodie. All he wanted now was to cuddle
up in bed, or go over to Zayn’s and watch movies on his sofa. As long as they were inside with the
warmth of cushions and blankets, he’d be happy.

The rain was still pouring when he cracked the door open. He didn’t have an umbrella, so he took
off in a jog towards the parking lot, which was nearly deserted by the time he reached it. His car
was parked in the middle, and he dug into his bag for the key, planning to unlock it from a
distance. He didn’t want to get wet again. However, by the time he actually reached the Rover his
hand still hadn’t found the fob. He stopped at the hood, both hands now feeling through his bag.
He glanced inside, searching between his wet kit, cleats, and dirty towel. His wallet was there,
along with his home keys, and a water bottle. Even the freaking condoms and lube were there. But
not the car key.

It had to be a joke.

“Are you pulling my leg?” he muttered angrily. Of all the times he hadn’t been careful with his
belongings, today was the time his car key had decided to fuck off somewhere. He felt his
shoulders begin to freeze up, his hoodie unable to keep the rain out. “Fuck me,” he breathed, and
started towards the nearest school building for shelter. There, he grasped his phone from his
pocket. Zayn picked up after two rings.

“Mate, I lost my car key and now I’m stuck at school in the rain,” he sighed. “Can you get me?”

Zayn sounded sincerely sorry. “I’m not home, man, and I know my parents have the car. I’d ask
them to get you, but they’re visiting Doniya at uni.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he said.

He stared at his parents’ numbers on his phone. His mum was probably in Blackpool, and he didn’t
know what his father was up to. He didn’t really want to talk to him anyway. He considered ringing
perhaps one of his teammates, but he didn’t know Ed enough to force him back to school on a
Friday night when he’d just left, and it wasn’t like he hung out with any of the other boys much
anyway. His old friends, the ones he’d been with for most of his time at school, were no longer
options. Not since last spring.

All there was left to do was hike it. He thoroughly checked his pockets and the bag one last time,
and then began to trek down the parking lot. It would take him at least twenty-five minutes to
walk, perhaps fifteen to run. By the time he left the school premises he was already sodden again,
and he wondered if there wasn’t thunder in the air, too. He ended up running for a few minutes, but
the water from the ground kept splashing up his legs and his training bag slammed into the back of
his thighs. After accidentally stepping into a deep puddle, he decided to just hand himself over to
the faith of God and walk.

He didn’t want to get ill — it wasn’t like he could pretend this was just exercise in poor weather.
On the footie pitch, it was one thing. All alone, striding past houses and seeing their glowing lights
from the windows on a Friday evening, was a completely different one. Now, his mind kept
slipping to hot baths and soup, blankets, and his mother’s hugs. The rain kept pelting, and Harry
shivered, predicting a fat cold coming his way.

“What the fuck?!”

Harry looked up. His head jerked around, looking for the abrupt exclaim cutting through the rush
of rain. He was passing through an average income area of houses, about ten minutes from his own
home. The one he’d stopped in front of had a small green lawn, a tiny driveway, and a small path
leading up to a stone porch. The house itself was part brick and part wood. It looked cosy, the
windows letting out a warm glow onto the dark street.

On the porch sat Louis. Despite so many years of attending the same school, Harry had never had a
clue as to where Louis lived. But there he was, out of the blue, sitting on a porch in the rain,
looking extremely depressed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” called Louis from where he sat, appearing entirely bewildered.
It seemed a bit much, Harry thought, coming from someone who clearly had a place to hide from
the rain, yet still chose to loiter outside in the horrendous weather.

“The question is, what are you doing? Why are you sitting on a porch, looking sufficiently
suicidal?”

Naturally, Louis’ answer was quick. “I’m not suicidal!” he began hotly, but the rest of it came out
in a grunt. “I’m just — I thought it was appropriate to my mood.”

Harry didn’t have the strength to laugh, but he rolled his eyes and sighed. “So fucking dramatic, I
swear to God…”

Louis remained seated on the porch, but he was clearly looking back at Harry with an odd focus.
He was quiet for a few moments, but unsurprisingly he had to retaliate anyway. “If anyone’s
suicidal, it’s you. What are you even doing, walking in this weather?”

“I think I lost my keys.”

“How unfortunate.”

Harry gave him an insincere smile, but it quickly faded. He needed to get out of this rain. He
wasn’t going to waste his time standing there with Louis of all people. Time to go.

“Well, have fun walking in the rain,” said Louis, like he was thinking along the same lines. He was
turning away, but suddenly shouted, “Heads up!”

Harry’s head snapped up at the loud call, wincing as something hard hit him in the chest. His hands
clutched at the object on their own accord, and he soon began to feel a thick fob of plastic and
metal between his cold fingers. A car key.

It took him a few seconds to process the information.

“What the fuck?” He looked down at his hands incredulously for a moment. Then he looked up,
staring at Louis. “You stole my keys?”

“Who said I didn’t just find them?”

What. The. Hell.

The boy in front of him was fucking mad.

“Where?” belted Harry, voice shaking. “In the pocket of my jeans?!”

Louis acted like it was nothing. He sighed and started moving away as though he was about to go
inside and close the door. “You’re so sensitive,” he said breezily, pushing his brown fringe from
his eyes as he moved. “What’s a walk in the park?”

Harry stalked forward across the path up to the porch. His heart was starting to thrum faster. “I’m
going to be sick now!” he yelled. “What if I miss football practice?”

Louis had the nerve to roll his eyes. “Oh, calm down, captain. What’s a little cold? A fever isn’t
that bad.” He stared right back at Harry’s fuming face, deep blue eyes and all, and suddenly was
bold enough to look annoyed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not some sadist.”

Was he crazy?
“Fucking sinister is what you are!” Harry was serious. “What is the matter with you? Why — why
would you take, no, steal my car keys?” He couldn’t even control his own mouth. “Who does that?
Why would you…?” A thought occurred to him, and he shook his head incredulously. What if…?
“Is this about the game?” he asked. “Wow! You are so incredibly selfish.”

He had never met somebody so conclusively lost in his own world.

“Hey!” Louis cut in, his face twisting up. “I’m not selfish. I gave you the keys back, didn’t I?”

Harry could only laugh at that. What in the world?

“Yeah, okay, yeah. It’s fine now!” Oh, man. It was time to leave, but he was so angry he couldn’t
help but keep yelling. “Louis, you are so bitter! I don’t understand you. You’re so fucked up.”

Louis came at him, jumping off the porch as soon as the last sentence left Harry’s mouth. “I’m not
fucked up. You’re fucked up!”

Harry felt the hard punch of Louis’ hands hitting his shoulders forcefully, and forced himself not to
stagger too much.

“What a comeback,” he bit back, and pushed Louis right back in the chest. He watched him almost
slip on the wet lawn, but again Louis’ fists knocked him back.

“Why are you always such a jerk?”

“I’m a jerk? You have a twisted fucking sense of reality.”

Harry had truly never met someone so… He didn’t have words for it. He didn’t.

Then Louis was backing away. “You know what?” His hands thrust out in the air. “I’m not going to
do this with you. Goodbye! You can leave.”

Louis turned and stalked away. Harry should have turned and left, too. But that wasn’t fair, really.
Louis didn’t have the right to choose when this conversation was over. He had practically put Harry
out on the street like a stray cat in rainfall, and thought a mere “sorry” would make it okay.

“We’re not finished yet.”

He was cold, wet, and livid. He headed after Louis, very much unsatisfied. He wasn’t done.

He’d almost caught up when the boy flashed around, catching him off guard. He’d been about the
grab the back of Louis’ hood, to yank him to the ground if he could. Instead, he was now facing
him, Louis’ posture firm and staring up at Harry with angry, blue, blue… eyes. And fluffed hair.

Harry hated him. He desired nothing more than the satisfaction of crushing his undeserved ego.
But Louis kept staring… and staring. Harry’s brain made a U-turn and slowly began to fill with
memories. Memories that were too good to be forgotten. Memories that had kept him up night after
night that past week. He knew exactly how he could feel that same satisfaction without having to
smash Louis’… God, his freaking face.

“Fuck me.”

What was wrong with him? Harry didn’t know how or why, but he couldn’t hold it in. Not any
longer. He just wanted to feel all of it again. He wanted Louis to say yes. To just say yes, so they
could both simply fall into that feeling instead. That feeling that was so overwhelming and
overpowering.

Say yes, his insides seemed to beg.

Say yes.

Louis’ shoulders moved back as he swallowed and then he exhaled hotly, “Yeah, okay.”

It wasn’t just Harry’s brain that had made a one-eighty, it seemed. Louis’ hands came for his body
within an instant. Harry could barely control himself as Louis pawed at the front of his wet hoodie,
beginning to drag him into the house and towards the hallway carpet. The front door fell shut
behind them.

“My mum and my sister will be home soon,” Louis gasped. His right hand felt like a burning iron
as it touched Harry’s cold waist. He shivered, but didn’t want Louis’ touch to disappear. Louis’
hands were warm and his body was cold. He wanted them all over himself.

Louis began pulling at his own clothes. Off, off, off, was all Harry could think, his gut curling into
a heated mess of yearning. And then Louis was right there, in front him. It was strange because the
first time they’d been together he’d barely even looked. He had mostly just felt. But Louis stood in
front of him now, faintly tan and naked. Just like that.

Well. If Louis could be bold then Harry could, too. “Just take me from behind.”

After that, it was a rush of motions. Louis moved them to the floor and Harry yanked the lube and
condoms from his training bag. He was instantly startled when Louis grabbed the lube from his
hand with urgency and covered his own fingers with it. Harry tried to keep his breathing calm, but
feeling someone else’s fingers moving into him was both unnerving and overwhelming. His heart
beat harshly against his ribs, but it was good. He didn’t know how, but Louis managed to make
him feel like he was ready after only minutes.

“C’mon,” he huffed, already getting lost and feeling his body softening underneath Louis’. He
smelled like sweat and grass, like he hadn’t showered since the match. And fuck, but Harry really
liked it. It was a soft scent, but powerful in envelopment and allure. He urged him to hurry, a new
sort of desire pooling in his belly as he sensed Louis getting ready so close behind him.

What surprised him, though, was that it was so different. Each time they’d done this it had been
different. But every time it seemed to just get better. In the locker room, it was overwhelming
simply being so intimate with Louis, encased by his pure scent and heavy body, feeling him press
himself against Harry’s own. This, though, was another thing. This was quick and lustful. This time
Harry wanted more. Less of Louis’ warmth and embrace, however, more of his body inside his
own.

“Harder,” he groaned after a couple of minutes, his thighs shaking. His knees were aching against
the floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. “Please,” he moaned.

Louis moved fast-paced and unrelenting, and Harry couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it. It would’ve
been a burning lie. He couldn’t keep himself from touching himself at the pleasure, and he
finished, moaning hoarsely into the crook of his own elbow. He slowly sank to the floor as Louis
finished, movements stuttering as he, too, came.

His chest heaved, shoulders rising and falling, and Harry squeezed his eyes closed for a second,
trying to collect himself. He still felt a little bit… taken, by all of it. “Shit,” he exhaled. Pleasure
still pounded through his body.
Louis was silent, and Harry watched him from the side as he removed the condom. Weirdly quiet.
Quiet, like he had been all week.

“You know, before the first time we fucked, I honestly didn’t expect you to have as big of a cock
as you do.”

Louis looked at him for a beat, his eyes sharply intense for a short second, before he rolled them
with a flick of his hair. “And now you just can’t seem to get enough of it?”

There it was. Louis’s conceited one-track mind. “Your self-righteousness is gross.” He kind of
preferred Louis when he was silent and fucking him, he decided. Not so much when he was
talking.

“And your ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude is appalling.”

Harry was almost stunned. “Who knew you had such a vocabulary?”

He received a hot glare in return, but before Louis could say anything else, a fierce, bright light hit
them through the kitchen windows. He felt Louis’ strong hand grasp painfully into his skin, pulling
savagely at his body.

“Get up! Now!” Louis started fervently dressing, and Harry wasn’t slow to follow. He pulled his
trousers up from his ankles, looking around the hallway.

“Where’s my shirt?”

They both desperately searched the floor with their eyes, and Louis soon found his hoodie under a
chair that stood against the wall in the hallway. He tossed it more or less at Harry, rather than to
him. He started to push at Harry’s back, steering him through the kitchen towards a door that
appeared to lead to the back of the house. Before Harry knew it, his naked feet hit the backyard
lawn, becoming wet and cold once more.

“Hey!” he yelled angrily. He only saw a flash of something flying through the air before it nearly
hit him in the face. “Ow!”

“It’s a pair of shoes!” Louis growled. He was standing inside, eyes flashing back and forth from the
other side of the kitchen and the spot where Harry was cowering in the still-pouring rain. “You’re
so fucking weak!”

“Fucking sinister!” Harry hissed back at him, hurrying to get his shoes on before his toes turned to
ice. All Louis did was thrust a middle finger towards him before slamming the door shut.

Just like that, Harry was back in the rain. His training bag was muddy and disregarded on the
ground not far from him, and his shoulders were turning wet once more.

He grabbed the bag, quickly slipping around the corner of the house, away from the windows.
There, he began to fix his hoodie and shoes, his heart still hammering in his chest.

Everything had happened so quickly. He felt along his thigh and was relieved to note his phone
was still in his pocket. He didn’t know where his t-shirt or his socks were, but the most important
things he had.

He could see Louis’ parents’ car in the driveway now, but it was empty. He lowered himself and
began to move along the side of the house, cowering from the windows. He slid away from the
building and kept a low posture behind the car before hitting the pavement.
He’d never felt as dumb in his entire life. What if a neighbour saw him sneaking around, and
decided to ring the police?

Harry started to run as he made his way down the street, leaving Louis’ street behind.

The house was empty when Harry got home. His father’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and he
doubted his mother would be home before Monday. Recently his mother would extend her trips
over the weekend, and Harry’s father didn’t appear to enjoy sitting in the house too much on his
own. Harry wasn’t exactly surprised that the house was dark when he got in, and neither that it
remained empty for most of the weekend to come.

His father arrived home late that Friday evening, and left for golf before noon the following day.
Harry occupied his mind by finishing homework, cleaning his training clothes, and trying to clip
their cat’s claws with horrendous failure. They were getting long, but he supposed he’d have to take
her to a groomer to get it done. His sister had used to be the cat’s primary caretaker, but the role
had unofficially been passed onto him since she’d moved. He settled for clearing the litter box and
petting her belly. Whenever he tried to kiss her feet she would claw at him, but then curl up against
his belly.

On Saturday he watched Manchester United play Tottenham on telly. Premier League had started,
and he was following it studiously. Marcus Rashford was a big idol, but he did admire Kane and
Son, who played for Tottenham. He was still revelling a little bit in the memories from his own
match, but his thoughts kept turning onto Louis Tomlinson.

Before all this had started, Louis had been a nuisance he would rather forget about when he could.
He’d been just another bothersome thing that came along with school, like homework or being
forced to play gently during football in P.E. class — simply a disturbance. Now, Louis was still all
of those things, if not worse. He was the co-captain of the football team. Before, he’d been
annoying during practice, but now the bloke had actual power over the team. Harry tried to balance
Louis’ random blasts of stupidity with sense, planning, and morale, but he still only had fifty per
cent influence over the direction the team was taking. He supposed he could only trust that Coach
Abrahams would step in if Louis went too far.

To be honest, Harry believed Louis already had. How could Coach allow them a captain who
wouldn’t even pass the ball? Were those the qualities Coach wanted in the leader of their team? He
truly doubted it.

Louis didn’t even care about the boys on the team. He cared about himself. Harry knew that for
certain after spending most of the previous night in pissing rain. The guy hadn’t even appreciated
the fact that they managed to get a draw — probably would have preferred them losing than Harry
making the crucial goal. Harry supposed he would need to have a chat with Coach about all of this.

What he couldn’t wrap his head around was what seemed to happen to him each time the two of
them fought. All this energy became pent up in his body, and the fact that Louis was fit as hell just
seemed to snap the system out. It hadn’t been like that before. It wasn’t until this year that their
fights had turned so physical, and it wasn’t until that’d happened that it became sexual.

Perhaps it wasn’t Louis, he pondered. Perhaps Harry was just into fighting? People could be into
weird things, sexually. He felt a little bit optimistic for a moment, imagining the fact that it wasn’t
Louis Tomlinson that made him feel hot. To test the theory, he opened YouTube and found a UFC
fight to watch. After living through and understanding the manner in which someone’s nose can
change place on their face, he could confirm that it certainly was not physical fights that got him in
the mood. Revolting, really.

He didn’t know what it was then. And he wasn’t particularly happy about it. He didn’t want to be
attracted to someone who was such a horrible person. He’d been kicked out on the street for
Christ’s sake, twice.

The only good part was that he knew one thing for sure after that Friday. It was obvious that Louis
wasn’t keen on sharing their business — which was a relief. Harry couldn’t help but grieve the fact
that Louis hadn’t been especially nice about it, though, throwing shoes at his face.

On Sunday that weekend, Harry went for a jog up to the school to fetch the Rover. On the way
back he picked up Zayn, who came over to keep him company. His father had been gone most of
the afternoon, and his mother still wasn’t home.

“I brought you tea,” said Zayn once they were in Harry’s room. He brought a green paper
container from his backpack. Harry grinned, taking the box from his friend’s hand and immediately
smelling it. The scent was lemony, or perhaps it was another citrus flavour? “Sorry for not getting
you on Friday.”

Harry scoffed. “That is not your fault. Believe me, mate.”

Zayn sat down on the bed and eventually began rolling a spliff on Harry’s bedside table. “Still.
You’re not sick, are you?”

“Nah, I’m okay.” He might as well have been, though. “What were you doing on Friday, then?”

“I was at Alex’s place, actually,” said Zayn, keeping his eyes focused on the spliff. The
mouthpiece was set between his pursed lips, and Harry could see his long, black eyelashes making
shadows on his cheeks in the lamplight. “You remember him, right? From last year.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s… uh.” He paused. “He’s dating Jasmine’s sister now.”

Harry looked away. He preferred not to think about her. He’d managed not to do so for a few days
now. Nonetheless, she was like a recurring flash of electricity, burning his skin every once in a
while. He never knew when, but he knew he’d get scorched eventually.

“Good for him.”

“If you say so,” hummed Zayn. He raised the rolled-up joint towards Harry, who shook his head.

“No, thanks.”

They were quiet for a while, leaning back on the bed and staring at the ceiling for a little while.
Zayn began to smoke, the sweet scent slowly becoming known in the air. Harry didn’t care much;
his parents weren’t home and they probably hadn’t been in his room for more than two minutes in
a year’s time.

“You know, she talked about you,” said Zayn after a while. “Camila. The things she said weren’t
so nice.”

Harry wasn’t surprised. Jasmine and her two siblings were a close-knit bunch. “She’s her sister.”

“Still. I didn’t want to listen, but she was talking.” He made a gesture with his hand, moving it in a
circle at his ear. “Mad as hell.”

“I don’t really want to hear it, Zayn.”

“I get it.”

He couldn’t help it. “What did she say?” he muttered.

“That you broke Jas’ heart. You were her friend, and then you weren’t, yada-yada. You’re being
mean for no reason, blah…”

“Does she know that…”

“That you’re gay?”

Harry drew in a breath. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t tell her,” he assured. “She didn’t mention it, but then Jas came ‘round and she was all
pissed I was there. Bloody whacked, that girl.”

Harry remembered the temper she had. She didn’t stand down, and a long time ago he’d admired
her for it. Now it only scared him.

Zayn and Jas had never been mates. They were different, down at the very core.

“Do you think —” Harry swallowed. “Do you think…?”

“What?”

Do you think she’s going to tell people? he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t because then he’d
probably have an anxiety attack. He would have to explain her threats, and if he did that, Zayn
would be livid and want to confront her. Confronting her really didn’t bode well.

He didn’t continue, and Zayn seemed to drop it. Harry didn’t know if it was because he was feeling
the effects of the weed, or because he knew Harry didn’t want to discuss it.

“What’s it like being gay then?” asked Zayn bluntly, and Harry blurted out a laugh. “What, I want
to know!”

Harry smiled, but it began to fade as he really thought about it. For a while, it hadn’t been fun. Not
at all. He’d really been unhappy. But that wasn’t because he was gay, he had realised after a long
time. It was because of Jasmine. He knew there was nothing wrong with him, but her actions made
him feel anxious and uncomfortable with it. Then again, he’d only had his first experience being
with a guy not too long ago. From what he could gather from those brief minutes, though, he knew
for certain there were fairly amazing parts to it, too.

“Maddening,” was his final reply.

They spent a couple hours talking and watching tv-shows on Harry’s laptop. Zayn stubbed his joint
after smoking half of it and tucked the remainder of it into his wallet. Later, there was a soft knock
on the door, and it slowly slid open.

“Hello, my love.” It was his mother. Harry hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks. Her hair was long
and loose, flowing down her shoulders and framing her bronzed cheeks. Her smile was soft as she
opened her arms towards him, expecting a hug.
Harry stood from the bed, and Zayn began to gather his things behind him.

“Hello,” he said, but didn’t step into her arms.

She looked at him for a moment, and then walked forward and wrapped her arm around his
shoulders and kissed the side of his face. “I missed you, my dear,” she said warmly. She kept her
arm around him as she smiled at Zayn. “Hi, love. Long time, no see, yeah?”

“How are you, Mrs. Styles?” said Zayn.

“Lovely, Zayn. Thank you. I’ve just been on a short tour for the gallery. How’s your mum?”

“She’s fine.” He headed for the door. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”

Harry waved lamely, and his mum called out something about Zayn’s father’s dhal recipe after him
as he left. When he was gone, his mum sat down on the bed, looking at him expectantly.

Harry stared back at her. “What?”

Her hands extended before her. “Well?” she smiled. “Tell me all about your week!”

“What?”

“Your week!” she repeated. Harry didn’t quite know whom he was talking to anymore.

“I’m sorry, but since when do you care?”

Her face fell. “What do you mean? Of course, I care, silly. I want to hear all about it. I’ve been
gone for a bit, you know?”

“Yeah,” he retorted stiffly, arms crossed as he leaned back against the door to his bathroom.
“Thanks for the warning, by the way.”

His mum looked back at him, silent for a few moments. Harry knew exactly what this behaviour
was. She was feeling guilty for being gone, and now she was overcompensating by being more
caring than she was whilst actually being home.

“Honey,” she said. “Come here and let me hug you.”

He sighed. Then he strode over and sat down next to her. Her knuckles stroked his cheek
affectionately. “I’m going to be home more,” she said. “I promise.”

“Whatever, mum. I’ll be gone next year anyway. No need to change just for a few months, eh?”

She looked at him, and then her hand slid off his cheek. Instead, she grabbed his hands tightly and
dragged him in closer. “I love you, Harry. I promise things will change around here.” He nodded.
She touched the tip of his nose and smiled again. Then her nose wrinkled. “What’s this scent? Did
you get incense sticks?”

He grabbed her hand. “Why don’t we go downstairs and eat some dinner?”

On Monday, Harry arrived at school with Zayn in tow. Both of them had History together that
morning, and then English later that afternoon. As they strode through the hallway after the first
class, plenty of the other students congratulated Harry on Friday night’s match. It was as though
they’d actually won when in truth they’d all played pretty poorly. It definitely wasn’t a passable
game. He expected them to have a long talk with Coach that afternoon during practice. Despite
Coach’s encouraging words after the match, he knew there were things he was bound to discuss.
Harry knew for certain he had a few things to mention, personally.

When it was time for English class, Harry was ready to bounce off to footie training instead.
Having scored in the last match, he was eager to get back on the grass as soon as possible. He’d
jogged about the park during the weekend with a ball, but it truly wasn’t the same. He and Zayn
were in the hallway, heading towards their lockers to fetch their books for English, when suddenly
a few girls entered, ending up huddled on the opposite side of the hallway. Harry almost turned
around and headed back, but in front of Zayn, such a thing would be questionable.

Naturally, the girls were Jasmine’s friends. She, in person, was standing to the side, dressed in blue
jeans and a white sweater. Her lips were red as usual, and her eyeliner was artfully painted in large
wings. Harry knew it would take her long minutes to paint those; he had watched her do it at the
mirror in her bedroom, whilst he sat on the bed trying to make himself feel attracted to her slender
body and neat shoulders.

Jasmine looked up when they passed. Her eyes locked, hawk-like, on Harry. They went from
relaxed to suddenly grim, and then her face went sour as she noticed Zayn right beside him. Her
eyes followed them as they passed her, Harry’s heart thrumming nervously. When they both
looked back over their shoulders at her, she sent them an expressive grimace.

Zayn lifted his hand and flipped her off. She returned the favour and turned her back to them in a
swift spin. The group of girls strode off.

Zayn laughed quietly. “What is she doing?”

Harry didn’t find it quite so funny. He felt extremely uncomfortable.

They continued on, and first fetched Zayn’s book before they went to get Harry’s. It wasn’t until
they rounded the corner that Harry realised that someone was standing right in front of his locker.
It was Louis.

The last time he’d seen him near his locker, he’d found a mousetrap set up under his science book.
It was after he’d told their teacher that Louis had thrown a piece of paper at him in the back of the
classroom. The message was clear: rat. They’d been in ninth grade, and Louis clearly thought he
belonged to the mob.

It was odd how different he felt, running into Louis and Jasmine respectively. Jasmine made him
want to dash off, and while Louis didn’t exactly make him want to stick around, he didn’t scare
him in the least.

They walked up to the locker, and Harry cleared his throat loudly, making Louis stir and twist
around to face them. What Harry noticed first, was that Louis was wearing tracks and a t-shirt with
his jersey number on. The second thing was that while he looked freakishly fit, he also seemed
uncomfortable where he was standing. Thirdly, he was holding onto Harry’s t-shirt and two socks.

Louis’ face was as tan as ever, and his hair was perfectly tousled to look both unintentional and
deliberate all at once. His eyes were blue, of course, and a training bag hung snugly over his chest
in a way that really emphasised his physique. Harry tried to keep his eyes on his face instead, and it
wasn’t difficult when Louis’ expression all of a sudden changed from surprised to entirely and
completely haughty. He slowly met Harry’s gaze, lifted Harry’s shirt, placed the socks on top of it,
and extended them towards him in a way that suggested he was doing him a truly gracious favour,
handing him… socks.

Harry watched him tilt his chin up the second Harry took the clothes, and he twisted away with just
as much flair and fire as Jasmine had done, although Louis looked ten times more arrogant than
she did. Jasmine had looked fierce; Louis looked pretentious.

Harry couldn’t not watch him as he began to walk off, eyes flashing between the clothes and the
guy who’d just offered them to him. Louis’ phone began to ring then, though, and the boy instantly
stopped in his tracks, digging through his bag, uncharacteristically urgent.

“Shit. Fuck,” Harry could hear him swear to himself.

Harry watched the shirt, reality slowly sinking in as he folded the clothes a bit neater.

“What are those?” asked Zayn.

“Um,” he swallowed. “My stuff. He grabbed them accidentally in the locker room after the match.”

“Hi, Louis! You look great today!”

Harry and Zayn swivelled around, and watched as Jasmine strode past them with obvious fervour.
She kept going, however, and neither of them had a chance to say anything when Louis’ answer
came briskly.

“Hi, thanks,” he said to Jasmine. “Greg!”

Harry didn’t like it. Not one bit. He didn’t like that Jasmine had done that. If Zayn was confused
about why she had come back around so soon, Harry wasn’t. She was clearly pissed and putting
herself in his face. If he wasn’t going to talk, perhaps she was going to try and get to him in a
different way. Perhaps by befriending the guy who liked Harry least in the whole school.

As she disappeared, he quickly realised that Louis had actually answered her, too. From what he
knew, Louis had never even had a conversation with Jasmine. When they were friends, Jasmine
was fully aware of their rivalry, and Harry had always thought she never really knew Louis more
than what he would tell her. He really didn’t like the thought of Jasmine talking to him. Especially
considering the fact that Harry had had sex with him. Twice.

He watched Jasmine saunter away, feeling a bristling ire within. What exactly was she up to? He
glanced at Louis, remembering the way she’d had called his name on the bleachers the week
before.

Louis was talking into his phone, standing completely still but talking breezily. “I can’t do
afternoons. Weekends and nights only… Sorry for ruining all your work. I hope you can still put up
with me. I’m a handful, should have told you… Great! See you then! Wednesday night. I’ll be
ready.”

Louis lowered the phone. Harry found himself staring at him, mixed feelings swirling inside. What
did Jasmine want with Louis? Was she out to get Harry? Or did she seriously expect to be friends
with Louis? If she did, would he befriend her? Also, who the fuck was Greg? And why was Louis
seeing him on Wednesday?

Louis looked back at him, but his face hardened as he did. He turned and started walking off in
long, poised strides.

“Why didn’t he just put the clothes back in the locker room?” asked Zayn, shaking his head.
Right?

“I don’t know,” he responded quietly through his teeth. Anger lingered within. Why was Louis
giving back his clothes in the middle of the hallway in school? Why didn’t he just keep them, or
give them back when they were alone? He clearly didn’t want anybody to know, seeing as he’d
tossed Harry out on the street just to hide him from his family.

Maybe Louis didn’t actually want to be alone with him again, though, he considered. It wasn’t like
they had an agreement to see each other again. Those times when it had happened, it had simply…
happened. Harry had barely thought it through himself. He had spent time reminiscing the way it
felt, being naked with Louis, but he hadn’t begun to think about what it all actually meant. Or,
about what Louis thought of all of it. If he wanted to keep doing it, or if he hated it and simply
wanted to forget. Were they supposed to talk about it? He didn’t know. Did Louis want to talk
about it? Did he want to talk about it? He wasn’t sure, because he didn’t know what he would say.

He supposed he would have to confess that he liked it, he thought later that afternoon, as he was
jogging up and down the football pitch, Louis yelling at all of them as he ran ahead of the group.

“Push it, push it!” he demanded, and Harry watched him with an odd resentment, sweat pouring
down his neck. Coach had talked for fifteen minutes about the match, and Louis had subsequently
taken it upon himself to make them all remember what vomiting was like by having them run
around like dogs. In that moment, Harry became very annoyed with himself for having slept with
him. Louis may have been blatantly gorgeous and severely handsome, but the guy had problems.

And the guy appeared to have some sort of Greg. Whom he was seeing on Wednesday.

All these things seemed to swirl through his head for the coming few days. Jasmine haunted his
thoughts, popping up randomly and painfully, and Louis’ mere presence made him feel suddenly
confused and strange. What did Louis think about them, he would think, and then he’d berate
himself for even thinking there was a them. No, there clearly wasn’t. But the more he considered it,
he wondered what was supposed to happen next. Louis was continuously ignoring him, like he had
been before the match and the incident at his house. And that made Harry question all of it even
more. If there was nothing going on, if all this wasn’t anything special, then why was Louis acting
differently? Why wasn’t he bullying Harry, like he had for the last three years of his life?

It bothered him immensely. Meanwhile, all he could do was watch Louis at school, completely
ignoring him. Louis acted like nothing was different when he talked to everyone else, but as soon
as he met Harry’s gaze, he’d look away uncomfortably.

On Thursday, the thoughts were almost doing his head in. He’d finally brought his clothes home
after ending up leaving them in the car, and he shoved them aggressively in a drawer. For an odd
second, he almost thought it was nice of Louis to give them back. And then he was livid again
because Louis didn’t do nice things. Louis kicked him out in the rain and threw shoes at his head.
And stole car keys, let’s not forget! And then he didn’t even have the nerve to meet Harry’s glare
during lunch.

By Friday, Harry felt exhausted. He hadn’t slept much the night before, because his mind kept
stirring. Each time his phone buzzed he feared it was Jas. And when he was thinking of her, he was
thinking of Louis. He woke up at five that morning, and spent the hours before school reading up
on training exercises. As he was up early, he actually took some time getting dressed. It wasn’t
often he wasn’t in training kit throughout the school day, but he actually made an effort with some
accessories that day, seeing as he had the time.

He was making coffee before heading off to school when his mother twirled into the kitchen like a
fierce hurricane. He looked up from the cup of regular brew he’d just poured, staring at her. She
was wearing make-up, already dressed in an expensive pantsuit, her hair curled. She was wearing a
gold bracelet. Harry recognised it, not having seen her wear it in years.

“You look… spiffy,” he noted.

She grinned. “Thank you, darling!”

“What’s with the bracelet?” And all the rest, he wanted to add, but supposed that would sound
rude.

“Your father gave it to me on our anniversary when you were a little boy,” she said.

“I know,” he replied. Why are you wearing it, though? he wanted to ask her. She hadn’t worn it in
years. His mother simply grinned, her shoes clicking against the stone floor in the kitchen as she
prepared a cup of tea.

“I like your earring,” she said after looking him over. “You look very fashionable.” When he didn’t
reply she continued, “Do boys wear earrings now?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

And for the record, I’m gay, mum, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t find the strength. So much
had happened lately that he had given up on the idea to share it with his parents. Maybe the fact
that Zayn knew was enough for now. Zayn and Jasmine… and Louis.

Harry’s father walked into the room not much later, dressed in trousers and a button-down. He
grinned, too, when he looked at his wife and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Harry grimaced, confused by the affection. “What is going on?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s our anniversary,” they both chimed. “We’re going to London for the weekend.”

Harry looked at them, brows raised. For a few seconds he watched them; his mother pink-cheeked;
his father whistling a bright tune. Then Harry sat his coffee down and left the room.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe his parents could go to London for a weekend. It wasn’t even that
they were celebrating their anniversary despite spending about ninety per cent of their time as far
away from each other as they could. It was the fact that his mum had promised to stay home more,
and then she simply chirped out these things like they were nothing short of marvellous. At least
his dad didn’t pretend that he wanted to spend time with him.

The school day that followed was similar to the previous ones that week. His mind kept falling
back to Louis, who kept avoiding him. The rare moments where he didn’t immediately look away
from Harry’s eyes he was frowning. Frustratingly, nothing of his behaviour or the expressions on
his face revealed anything of what he was thinking. During lunch, Harry was sat with a few people
in the cafeteria, Zayn and him a little way to the side. Louis was at a table across from them, eating
a thick bagel. There was a fair bit of drool on his bottom lip.

“Zayn,” muttered Harry quietly. His friend was reading something on his phone, but he glanced up,
raising a fine, black brow. “You know the… person,” he said, just in case someone was listening,
“that I was with.”

“Uh-uh.”
“How do I know what the protocol is between us?”

Zayn frowned, watching him from the side. “Depends. What’s going on?”

“Um,” he murmured, keeping his voice firmly down. “We’ve been kind of… hooking up. But it’s
been very spontaneous, and I don’t really want to have a talk with him about it because…” He’s a
fucking dick. “But I… I just keep wondering if… If we are doing this, or if it’s over.”

Zayn pursed his lips, pondering it for a moment. “Do you usually talk? When you hook up?”

“Not at all,” said Harry.

“Does he call you?”

“No, no,” he hissed. “It’s just been a spur-of-the-moment thing. We never talk.”

“Tough one,” he hummed. They were quiet for a while, and Harry forced himself not to look at
Louis again. It was very difficult. “I think you should text him. Like, tell him to come over, and
then if he does, you know he’s in it.”

Harry’s eyes went to Louis on their own accord. The drool was gone, but his lips were pink. “Are
you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Yeah, mate. Just write to him, straight up. Then it’s, you know, planned. Not spontaneous. If he
makes time for it, I would assume he’s into it. Imagine yourself in that situation.”

Harry considered it, his heart beating a little faster. Would Louis come to his house if he asked him
to? And did he really want to invite Louis over? After last time? He watched Louis chew, mouth
full of bagel, talking vividly to Liam at his table. Indeed, Louis Tomlinson was a maniac ninety per
cent of the time, but it had become pretty clear that Harry couldn’t get the idiot out of his head.
Truth be told, when Louis was silently having sex, he wasn’t so… bad.

Harry kept the thoughts about it in the back of his mind as the day went on. He felt a little bit
annoyed when it was announced footie practice was cancelled that afternoon, but it also made him
realise that the school day was finished that much sooner.

“Just do it, mate,” said Zayn as he watched Harry’s tortured expression during the last class.

Fuck it, he finally thought. His parents wouldn’t be home, and at least he would know what the
deal was between them. Moreover, if Louis actually did come over, they’d have sex. Warm,
blissful memories made his stomach pool with syrupy glue, head full of images of Louis’ body
against his own against a locker. He was certain it was his dick making decisions as he found
Louis’ phone number by checking the bottom of Louis’ stupid football emails.

He wrote, My house after school. Bring lube

Then he left class, feeling as though he was going to vomit all over the parking lot. Yes, sex was
really interesting and Louis was really hot. On the other hand… He had just put himself as out there
as anyone possibly could. He drove home, feeling the regret building within, dragging him down as
though quicksand.

Jesus Christ. Had he asked Louis to come over with lube? Oh, God. What if Louis was laughing at
him right now? What if he was enjoying it, swimming in self-righteousness, relishing in believing
Harry was in love with him?
He felt worse and worse as the minutes ticked by without a reply. Nonetheless, he left the door
unlocked as he stormed inside, just in case. He felt sweaty. He headed straight upstairs and threw
his shirt in the hamper, pulling the earring off and brushing his curls out of his face. He sat down
on the bed, helplessly texting Zayn.

He isn’t coming. What do I do???

He will, replied Zayn instantly. Just wait a bit.

Harry stared at the phone. It buzzed again.

If he doesn’t, it’s his loss. You’re fit as hell mate. You could get anyone. That guy probably doesn’t
deserve you anyway.

Harry stared at the message. He felt so deflated… and suddenly annoyed with himself. Louis was
an idiot, naturally. Why was Harry anxiously waiting?

Because Louis was really hot. He had nice hands and muscular legs, and a really, really sexy
stomach.

Jesus fuck. Harry wanted to throw his phone across the room in embarrassment and anger. Fuck
Louis. And fuck Zayn. Zayn was dumb for even suggesting this in the first place.

In the middle of his anxious, mental agony, the door to his room suddenly opened, and there stood
Louis.

Harry thought his heart jumped into his throat when he found him staring down at himself.

Louis looked perturbed, and as their eyes met, he threw something at Harry’s chest. Harry was too
surprised and relieved that he couldn’t even be mad at getting stuff tossed at him again. The item
rolled off his chest, but he knew exactly what it was as he saw it settle on the bed next to him.

“Oh, the expensive one,” he said. His heart was pounding, but relief started to slowly, slowly melt
into a nervous but steady satisfaction. Louis had shown up. And he had bought the expensive lube.
That was… a good sign, indeed. “Nice.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” asked Louis hotly.

Harry refused to let a pleased smile show on his face, but the fact that Louis had done exactly what
Zayn had said could only mean one thing. “What?”

“You’ve been a complete stalker for days. What the hell did I do to you?” he swore. He seemed
actually upset, but Harry couldn’t even make himself feel offended or stirred up. He was also sick
of Louis’ piss-poor negativity. “Stop staring at me, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re insulting me. I feel hurt.” He couldn’t bring himself to look upset.

Louis stared at him, blue eyes squinting and brows turning in as though he couldn’t for the life of
him understand or process what was happening. “You look like a fucking frog,” he stated,
disgusted.

“Hey.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Jesus Christ,” Louis said through his teeth. He sat down and flopped back on Harry’s bed. His
arms spread out across the sheet, and his right hand brushed against Harry’s jeans lightly. Harry,
who had a very hard time processing the fact that Louis Tomlinson was actually there, on his bed.
The guy who’d been a dick to him forever was now lying on his bed, his t-shirt up and showing his
soft, tan stomach.

Harry moved down on the bed, positioning himself right next to Louis, leaning on his elbow. He
tried to replace his nerves with confidence. The surprise was still steadfastly melting into
satisfaction. Louis Tomlinson was acting like a baby, though, and his complaining was out of
bounds as usual.

“Aw, baby,” he murmured, voice full of sarcasm. Louis looked like he had been through hell and
back. Harry seriously doubted Louis’ week had been shittier than his. “Been a rough week, eh?”

“I don’t know,” hissed Louis. “Maybe I’d feel a lot better if some creep didn’t look at me like he
wants to assault me in class. You know, a pupil is supposed to feel safe in school.”

Harry watched him close his eyes. He had eyelashes that were very long, and his profile looked
annoyingly handsome. More than should have been allowed. Harry averted his gaze but found
them lingering instead on Louis’ stomach. His shirt was barely covering his belly button, and Harry
wanted suddenly nothing more than to touch his skin. He knew it was soft because it had rubbed
against his own before. But he had never really taken his time, truly felt it.

As if compelled, he reached out and placed his hand over Louis’ lower stomach. His skin was soft,
and it was terribly smooth.

“Poor baby,” he said, but realised his voice was too gentle. He had intended to be sarcastic again.

Louis squinted up at him, eyes moving from Harry’s hand to his face. “I’m much better now,” he
said insincerely. “Thank you for caressing me.”

Harry swallowed, steadying his voice. “Very welcome, honey.” He smiled, but he was also getting
impatient now that Louis was actually there. He hadn’t invited him to listen to his whining; he
could do that at practice. “Now would you please stop fucking whining and do what you came here
for.”

Louis didn’t appear surprised by the change of tone, and instead simply found the lube on the bed
and began to remove his clothes. Harry followed, eagerness filling him. Gone was the nausea, and
gone was the anxiety. He pulled off his jeans without issues, and Louis was naked before Harry
had even removed his boxers.

They were faster this time. The lube smelled like strawberry, which was… new, but at any rate, it
worked just as well as any other. It was sweatier but more comfortable on top of the bed, rather
than on the floor or against a wall of lockers. Harry’s face was buried into a pillow instead of a
carpet, and his knees didn’t get burn marks from the friction. It was hot, but comfortable, and it
was… really, really, good.

Afterward, they both slid down on the bed, for a few minutes just breathing. This was… yet again
different. Nicer. He slowly started to breathe normally, beginning to regain some focus. His body
wasn’t pounding anymore from the orgasm, and he was starting to notice that the skin at his hips
was stinging slightly.

“Ow,” he complained, rubbing at his waist. He hadn’t felt it before, but suddenly there was a dull
ache, especially on his right side. “You bruised me,” he realised.
 “I didn’t bruise you,” scoffed Louis. He was sitting up now, his cheeks still flushed and chest
sweaty. He began to dress.

Harry pulled his pants on, and poked his right side, feeling it instantly ache. “You did.”

Louis looked at him, annoyed again. “You need to chill out, mate. You told me you liked it, like
two minutes ago.”

“I didn’t!” He didn’t remember that.

Louis raised a brow. “Did you black out, or something? Jeez. I know I’m good, but… wow.”

Harry stared at him, already too tired of him to listen. “Get out,” he said flatly.

Louis’ smile was sparkling and gorgeous. He licked his bottom lip, voice sultry and too fucking
sweet. “You must really like fucking me.”

“Get out.”

Louis continued to smirk but was putting his shoes on much too slowly. Harry grabbed the lube,
pushed it into Louis’ hands, and began steering him downstairs to the door.

“Hey,” he grumbled, but could do nothing but let himself be moved. Harry let him go once they
were on the porch outside, smiled at him, and then closed the door in his face. Then he walked
straight back up to the bed and fell asleep within a minute of his head hitting the pillow.

Chapter End Notes

As always I'm here:

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Twitter: isthatyoularry
 Chapter 5

The weekend passed quickly. Harry found himself actually sleeping the night through without
problems. His parents sent him pictures of the London Eye and dinner at a fancy restaurant,
though, and it made him slightly jealous. He was certain he wouldn’t have enjoyed going away
with just the two of them, but it seemed so freeing, to be able to go away for a weekend, leaving
everything behind.

Ultimately, he shouldn’t have been surprised when they came home on Sunday evening, fuming.
His mum was snapping out words briskly, and his dad was barely able to control his anger, just
muttering random words here and there. Harry supposed he was trying not to yell, but the way he
was faring didn’t look any better. Harry ignored them, hiking up to his room and turning in for the
night.

On Monday, Harry woke up to the noise of yelling. He grunted into his pillow, squeezing his eyes
shut. He briefly wondered what was going on, but then began to understand that it was his parents.
They were fighting. Clearly, they hadn’t finished yesterday.

He glanced at his phone. It was almost seven o’clock. If he wanted to make it to the first class by
eight, he would need to leave bed and get ready soon. He didn’t move, though. He stayed where he
was, duvet cocooned around him until he couldn’t hear anything anymore. When Harry slowly
dragged his feet downstairs, it was ten past eight. Both of his parents’ cars were gone, and he
supposed they had left for work. He sighed in relief, and sluggishly made a protein shake for
breakfast. He pulled on some tapered sweats and a hoodie after his shower, and then began making
his way to school.

Annoyed thoughts bristled somewhere within his mind, but as he neared school they slowly faded
and fell back to Louis, something they seemed to always do. It was obvious that his text message
on Friday hadn’t been a complete misfire. Louis had walked straight into his room, laid down on
his bed, and stayed. Thanks to that, Harry now knew two things. The first was that Louis had no
intention to share their business. The second was that, yes, Louis was certainly interested in this. If
not in Harry personally, then in them, naked together. Harry undoubtedly had an interest in that,
too.

Each time it happened, he would find himself lost and drowning in the moment. Before and after,
Louis was an enormous grievance, but right then… in the middle of it… Louis did everything right.

Furthermore, Harry didn’t like being an anxious person. Those brief moments of heat were often
followed by the feeling of reprieve for some reason. Perhaps everyone felt that, after having sex,
but Harry could tell there was something helpful there.

He had texted Zayn after Louis left, sending him several thumbs-ups. Zayn, grinning and nodding
approvingly, met him outside school when he arrived. “My boy,” he said. “Got himself a lad.”

“I don’t have a lad,” disagreed Harry, but Zayn kept smirking as though a proud older brother.

As if Zayn’s eagerness and the questions that followed weren’t enough, girls and sex seemed to be
a running theme of conversation throughout the day. There was a rumour about someone receiving
a blow job in one of the bathroom stalls, which made Zayn joke that Harry wasn’t the only one
fucking about at school. Then after lunch, it came forth that the goalkeeper of the football team,
Liam, had gotten himself a girlfriend. Harry wasn’t certain how it had unravelled, but all of a
sudden it was all the lads were chatting about.
Harry knew who the girl was. Her name was Sophia, and she was in his science and maths classes.
She seemed very clever and relaxed, much like Liam. They were both fairly popular, but didn’t
seem to care about that sort of thing. Harry thought it was nice.

When it was time for practice that afternoon, Harry entered the locker room along with Jonny, who
seemed to be high on the gossip. When he saw Stan inside the room, the two of them instantly
started laughing. It was dumb, but Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the two of them retelling the
story of how they’d walked around the back of the gym to have a cigarette, only to catch Liam and
Sophia snogging there. The rest of the team was slowly gathering, and when Liam finally got there,
they were all cheering and chanting childishly.

When they’d finally settled down, Lee was nice enough to hand Liam a compliment. “She’s pretty,
though,” he said.

Liam looked almost like he was blushing. “I know.”

“Careful, Li,” Harry heard Louis say teasingly from the other side of the room. Harry watched him
remove his shirt, and forced his eyes away. “You already seem whipped. If you don’t watch out,
she’ll have you on a leash.”

Harry scoffed at the poor joke, and Liam seemed to roll his eyes. He said, “I don’t really care to be
honest.”

It was very sweet, but then Stan laughed loudly. “She’s that good in bed, yeah?”

“Hey,” Harry barked. “That’s rude.” He didn’t like that sort of talk, and he was the captain,
supposed to preserve a respectful atmosphere. He slid his shinpads on where he sat, throwing Stan
an unimpressed glance.

Stan only snickered at his reprimand, and Lee began pushing at Harry’s shoulder. “Oi, captain. So
serious, eh.”

“He says because he hasn’t gotten a good lay in months.” Stan was once again bursting out in
laughter. The guy seemed to always have something to say, very much like Louis. Harry wasn’t
surprised the two of them were friends. Neither of them seemed to take critique seriously.

“Tell us, Harry,” said Lee, still nudging his shoulder and raising his brows suggestively. He was
always looking for a bit of fun and gossip, his dark brown eyes glittering with mischief and delight.
“When was the last time you pulled?”

It wasn’t a question he wanted. Of course, it wasn’t.

He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. “That’s none of your business.”

First of all, he was gay and closeted. Secondly, he naturally couldn’t tell them about Louis. He still
had no clue what Louis’ thoughts on his sexuality were, but it was clearly nothing he talked about.
Harry wasn’t very interested in sharing such a thing, either. He grabbed his training jersey and
pulled it on, hoping they would let it go.

Jonny joined the fray. “Please… It’s just us lads,” he grinned invitingly. He placed a hand on his
arm.

“I said,” Harry repeated slowly, voice serious, shrugging the hand off, “it’s none of your business.”

“Don’t be such a puss, Harry.” Stan. Again. Harry wasn’t normally the type to fall for peer
pressure, but at that moment, he just wanted to make them shut their faces and stop asking
questions about his sex life.

“Come on!” they all chanted.

“Fine!” he finally burst. If he said something, maybe they’d all just shut up. “Last week,” he
announced. “And it was a fucking good shag as well.”

He didn’t mean to look at Louis. Cross his heart and hope to die. Still, his eyes flew across the
room, and then he was met by Louis’ gaze. Blue, and utterly surprised. They both held the stare for
a long second before their teammates began to tug at Harry’s shirt, jumping around him as if to
celebrate.

“Get your arses to practice,” Louis yelled, voice fierce and loud. “We’ve got drills to run!”

The boys began grumbling and throwing Louis disappointed glares at that, but they all obeyed and
started heading out to the pitch. Harry was indeed appeased by Louis’ swift switch of conversation,
but he couldn’t help feeling anxious about what he had just said. He hoped Louis thought nothing
of it. He didn’t, right?

As the team moved towards the pitch, he caught up to Louis, who was the last of the boys out of
the locker room.

“You’re not a good lay,” he declared to him quietly. It was just something he had said to get the
lads off his back. Clearly.

Louis didn’t believe him. His brows were high on his forehead, and his eyes leered at Harry.
“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Not at all,” he said. Walking next to Louis he was taller, but Louis walked with poise and
character. Confidence carried him.

“Glad you think so,” he said. “Tell me that the next time you attack me.”

Harry swallowed. Next time. That could be interpreted as an invitation. If Louis could be confident,
then Harry could be bold. “My place,” he told him. “After practice.”

He jogged away after that, definitely noticing Louis’ surprise by the way he completely stopped
fucking walking. His confident stroll had been turned to dust, and Harry really, really liked that. It
was a feeling of pure satisfaction, making Louis speechless. The guy who constantly seemed to
one-up Harry definitely looked rumpled, even if just for a moment.

Harry made himself ignore Louis after that, and spent the rest of the hour fully focused on the lads
during practice. It was Louis’ day to be in charge, and as they went through the drills he appeared a
bit less dictatorial than he would on a normal day. Harry wondered if Louis was thinking of the
afternoon to come, or something else. He was beginning to feel rather certain that Louis would turn
up. He had last time, yeah? And he was the one who kept saying words like again and next time.
Still, one could never really be sure of what went on in his head.

Louis disappeared instantly after practice. Harry didn’t really consider that to be an issue; Louis had
been leaving immediately after practice for a couple of weeks. Harry hurried off to the locker room
and had a shower, ignoring the way the lads were once again talking about girls and sex. He
showered quickly, deep down eager to hopefully get to feel Louis’ firm body against his again after
practice. Finally at the car, he opened the door to the back. He was pushing his training bag onto
the seat when a sudden movement flashed in his periphery, and he jerked upright.
“Jesus fuck, Louis,” he groaned, hand clutching his chest as his heart jumped like a bouncing ball
under his ribs. Out of the freaking blue, there was Louis Tomlinson. He’d shot out from behind the
freaking car like an assassin.

“You,” hissed Louis aggressively. “Talk. Now.” He grabbed Harry’s shirt and dragged him around
the car until they were hidden from view.

Harry pushed his hand off his chest, fixing his now very crumpled shirt. “What are you doing?” he
complained.

Louis’ hand flew up and pinched Harry’s ear, tugging painfully downwards. Harry felt instantly
flustered and slapped his fingers off his ear. What was he doing?

“This thing going on between us,” said Louis agitatedly, eyes wild and hair still fluffed and sweaty,
“is not going to be a thing. I don’t even know what it is we’re doing here. One day you’re all up on
me, and the next those green little eyes of yours are sending daggers into my skull.”

Harry couldn’t help but sigh at his dramatic rhetoric, but as he did that, he instantly felt a flaring
pain in his foot as Louis’ shoe stomped down on his with vigour. “Fuck!” he groaned, gasping as
his head filled with questions as to whom this fucking guy thought he was.

“This is weird — no, this is wrong, and we need to talk about it.”

Harry was still crouched into a pained slouch, his foot aching dully. Louis had serious problems.
His erratic behaviour had to be some kind of diagnosis, for God’s sake. As he was bent down,
Harry considered Louis’ words, and then realised all of a sudden that Louis was talking about them.

So… he must have spent time thinking about them, too. At least as much as Harry had been
thinking about them. Huh.

If not more, he gathered, as he glanced up at Louis’ anxious face. His eyes were blue and hard, but
flickered around nervously. His eyebrows were pushed down into a heavy frown. Louis wanted
them to talk about it. And… that simply answered all the questions that Harry had been wondering.
He didn’t need to discuss it anymore.

Still, some of Louis’ words had taken a second to register.

Harry lifted a brow, feeling offended. “Gay is wrong?”

Louis looked at him as though he was stupid. “No,” he hissed. “You are wrong.”

Harry looked away, annoyance beginning to wake again. The guy standing before him seriously
never stopped being offensive. And anyway, Harry had already received all the answers he needed.
Louis was into it, and Harry was into it. Settled.

“This thing that is not a thing between us is wrong. It’s insane is what it is!” Louis kept rambling,
but all Harry could see was the tense vein in his neck, the intensity of his blue eyes, and the
sharpness of his cheekbones. “Somewhere there are dead kittens going batshit crazy in their graves
— this is absurd and needs to be talked about —”

Louis abruptly stopped ranting. He stopped talking because Harry had taken a severe step forward
and slid his hands down his waist and around his arse. Their stomachs were slotted against each
other, and Harry could feel Louis’ body right up against his own, along with the faint smell of his
natural scent. Sweat, warmth, grass. Heavenly.
Louis seemed about as shocked as those kittens he was ranting so annoyingly about. His breath
stuttered, jaw locked as he said, “Styles.”

Harry didn’t move. Louis was as surprised, if not worse, than he’d been out there on the football
pitch. Harry liked it even more. Knowing that Louis had been considering all of this, thinking
about it, made his own body turn warm and fill with instant want. Louis had been thinking about
them… This. About Harry. He had also shown up on Friday and bought lube, and… Had he spent
the entire weekend fixating on Harry’s body just as much as Harry had been ruminating over
Louis’ stomach?

“Tomlinson,” Harry murmured, his lips leaning in to just barely brush against Louis’ jaw. Louis’
hands tightened around him, and he could feel Louis’ exhale against his mouth. It was… hot.

“This is not a thing,” said Louis in a severe tone, but he didn’t try to move away. He stayed against
Harry, chest heaving up and down. Harry almost smiled, confidence in his recent estimations
growing with every second Louis stayed folded into his body.

“Yeah, yeah, Miss Principles.” If Louis wanted to make sure this wasn’t a thing — fine by Harry.
This wasn’t a thing, and they were not a thing. Still, both of them held a great interest in the things
they did together. “Now,” said Harry, smiling at Louis’ flushed face, his own chest falling heavily
with every heated second that passed, “get in the car so I can blow you, yeah?”

His sigh was so obviously a yes. Harry easily opened the door to the backseat of his car, fitted his
hands behind Louis’ thighs, and lifted him into it. They fell back against the seat, pushing Harry’s
bag to the floor in the movement, breaths rushed as their hands slipped in under clothes. Louis
jerked his footie shorts down, already flushed and hard. His mouth was ajar as Harry leaned against
him, heart racing as their gazes met for a brief second. Louis was already breathless, eyes glassy
with desire, and as they both looked down on his cock, straining up and against Harry’s thigh,
Harry noticed the briefest of smiles on the guy’s face before Harry moved down and wrapped his
mouth around him.

His hands remained on Harry’s shoulders and neck as he sucked him off. It was easier than he’d
expected, and with Louis’ thumbs pressing into the spots right behind his jawline he could feel
nothing but tight pleasure. Louis’ hisses promised he did everything right, and Harry couldn’t help
but enjoy the pressure of Louis’ fingers against his neck. It didn’t take longer than minutes before
he was being dragged up and off, feeling Louis’ hot breath through his t-shirt as he came, moaning
into Harry’s shoulder.

Harry’s heart pounded heavily, overwhelmed and caught off guard by the mere satisfaction of
getting Louis off. The weird thrill of feeling him groan against his own chest, shaking as he came.
Fuck. God.

Why was every single time different, and just kept getting better and better?

Louis’ face disappeared from Harry’s chest, and he silently grabbed the end of his own jersey and
dried them off with it. First, his own lower stomach, and then, the side of Harry’s tee and a slither
of his skin next to it. He was entirely quiet, and Harry could say nothing as his heart beat heavily.
Finished, Louis pulled up his shorts. He still said nothing, but as he jumped out of the car he
stopped in the middle of his movements and glanced back at Harry.

Harry raised a brow as he watched Louis consider him, his eyes trailing from Harry’s face and
down his chest and back. “What?” he said, voice unintentionally soft. Perhaps it was because
Louis’ face was so uncharacteristically gentle that he couldn’t muster up much strength in his tone.
“Nothing,” Louis said, and subsequently jumped out, grabbing his stuff off the ground and
disappearing.

They’d had a talk, of sorts, he supposed. Personally, Harry didn’t need to know more.

Louis didn’t bring it up again. He’d wanted to discuss it, and Harry had well… just wanted to know
if Louis wanted to discuss it. However, whatever this was, it was extremely okay with Harry.

It appeared to be extremely okay with Louis, too. That week flew by, and by Friday the two of
them had ended up getting off against each other one more time. Louis had looked delicious in a t-
shirt that emphasised his physique and Harry hadn’t been able to keep his hands off his chest.
Remembering Louis’ breath against his skin through his shirt, and the sound of his moans from the
low of his throat… It was impossible. It was downright unreasonable to refuse himself the feeling
of that stupidly fit person against himself when Louis allowed it.

And like that, the weeks seemed to fly by. Louis kept ignoring Harry, and Harry acted as though
nothing had changed between them. Except that Harry always thought about touching Louis, and
Louis in private perpetually gave him permission to do so. Nothing really had changed between
them, honestly, except they were shagging on the regular now. They still didn’t talk to other, and
they still fought during practice. Even though Louis was fucking him, he was still the same person
and Harry didn’t like him any better. More importantly, the sex simply kept on being maddeningly
pleasing, and no matter if Louis was lacking a few brain cells he was certainly getting better and
better at touching Harry. It was electric.

Furthermore, there was something immeasurably pleasing about the way Louis melted under him.
No matter how much they despised each other during football, it was addictively satisfying to
Harry how Louis entirely gave himself away so easily under his hold. The minute they’d touch,
Louis was so effortlessly convinced that everything was a good idea. Even if it was inside the
Rover, or the locker room at school. The thing was, whenever they touched, it felt good. Harry
really liked that feeling.

The first few times they hooked up after the car blow job, it happened at school like most of their
previous incidents. However, the first time they ended up at Louis’ house again, it was by
invitation. Harry had stridden into the locker room, finding it entirely empty except for Louis, who
was organising a pile of papers on top of a bench.

Louis lifted his chin, keeping his head high. “Hey.”

It was a bit surprising that he was saying hello at all. The usual conversation only involved words
like fuck me from Harry’s side and Louis’ pointless remarks of how much Harry must love him
that were ultimately crushed into dust when Harry made him come and reminded him how much
they both enjoyed this arrangement.

“What’s up,” said Harry and dropped his bag on the floor. The last time they interacted, they had
fooled around in Harry’s car after footie practice a couple of days before. Louis’ hairline had been
wet with sweat afterward, and Harry had needed to bite his lips not to moan too loudly against
Louis’ shoulder.

Louis nodded to the other side of the wall of lockers, to the part of the room that was hidden from
view should anyone open the locker room door. Harry followed him and ended up leaning back
against the wall as he watched Louis.
“This is the quiz.”

Harry raised a brow. “Quiz?”

“To see how much they’ve been listening during practice.”

“How anal,” said Harry, but smirked as Louis’ sent him an unimpressed look.

“You’re funny,” he replied, but there was no humour in his voice. He put the papers down on the
nearest bench, but his blue eyes never left him. He slowly walked forward, and grabbed the shirt
Harry was wearing, knotting it up in his hand right above his belly button.

“Speaking of,” murmured Harry.

Louis rolled his eyes, but he tugged him in, and Harry willingly fell into his body. His chest
pressed into his, and Harry’s face went straight to the crook of Louis’ shoulder. He just smelled so
good. And no matter how hesitant Louis was at times, once they were touching, he was in.

While Harry inhaled the other boy’s addictive smell of grass, Louis’ hands slid around Harry’s
waist, squeezing his bare skin, under his shirt. The touch sent shivers across his skin. Sometimes
Harry wondered if Louis really never had had a girlfriend or a boyfriend. He just seemed to know
exactly how to touch Harry in order to have him melt.

Louis’ fingers pushed under the lining of Harry’s boxers, but unfortunately, they heard the noise of
the door scraping open. They broke apart, but Louis’ hand remained around Harry’s hip, finger
lingering under the seam of his underwear. He looked up at Harry from under his tousled fringe,
cheeks a little bit red. “Come over tonight.”

Harry stared back. “Your house?”

“My mum works nights at the hospital. My sister will be asleep if you come late.”

He took a step back as he heard voices on the other side of the lockers. “Text me.”

Louis nodded once, and then Harry turned around and left.

It was five to midnight when his phone buzzed against his pillow. Harry was lying in bed, but his
clothes were still on. He wasn’t sure if his parents were asleep, but the rest of the house was silent
and dark as he tipped downstairs. He managed to open and close the front door without noise, and
then he left the house in a jog. He didn’t want to take the car in case it would wake his parents or
Louis’ sister once he arrived.

I’m here, he wrote when he was outside. It took two minutes, and then Louis was opening the front
door. He was wearing shorts and a large t-shirt, and very big socks. His hair was a bit fluffed,
presumably from lying in bed. He waved Harry forward, but remained silent.

Inside, Harry recognised the hallway and the kitchen he’d seen very briefly last time. The rug was
the same, the kitchen had a wooden table, and there was a shelf with many, many tea mugs. He
took off his shoes, and followed Louis down the hall. There was a sitting room at the back of the
house, but before he could see much of it, Louis was leading him up a set of stairs to the second
floor. Halfway up, Louis pointed to one step on the stairs, stepping over it carefully. Harry
followed suit, unable to keep from smiling.

The second floor was cutely decorated with photographs and knickknacks. There seemed to be
several bedrooms, but they couldn’t be very big. The house wasn’t newly renovated, but from what
Harry could see in the dark it was very homely. Louis went left atop the stairs and opened the
nearest door. Finally inside, he turned on the light.

It was everything and nothing like Harry had expected. There was stuff everywhere. Clothes, a
football, shoes, a laptop on the nightstand, and a couple of posters on the walls. Messi. A pamphlet
from the Manchester academy. Harry registered that, and glanced over at the bed. It was of
medium size, fluffed up with a thick duvet and pillows. There was a window on the opposite wall,
but it was covered by blinds.

“You’re messy,” he pointed out and felt a light knock on his shoulder.

“At least my house doesn’t look like the set of a movie.”

Harry turned and looked at him for a long moment. It was a bit funny he said that because Harry
very often felt like his house had become a stale picture of something it used to be. His parents’
absence and the housekeeper’s meticulousness certainly contributed to it.

He didn’t really want to think about that.

“Wanna’ fuck?” he asked.

“It’s why you came, no?” Louis shrugged.

Harry shrugged, too.

The bed was comfortable. The duvet was extremely fluffy, and between Louis’ body and the scent
of the sheets, Harry found himself in a cloud of what felt like strawberry and green apple. Louis fell
asleep instantly when they were finished, disappearing between the pillows. His lightly tanned skin
looked delectable against the white of the sheets. It was very late, and Harry wanted to fall asleep,
too. It would be so simple. The bed was soft and inviting, and he felt tired and his body spent.
Louis’ shoulder was very close to his face, and he smelled good. If Harry simply closed his eyes,
he could stay right there. His own room seemed too cold and lonely at that moment.

But he couldn’t stay there. Of course not. The thought was stupid.

He got up and began fetching his clothes. Louis didn’t move a muscle where he was. Harry found
his socks at the end of the bed. One had landed across an old DVD cover. Who still had DVDs,
honestly? He almost laughed when he saw what film it was. Grease. He faintly recalled Louis
playing Danny in a school play in eighth grade. It hadn’t been great, but he did have a nice singing
voice, to be fair.

Harry glanced at him again, his hair splayed out over the pillow. He could’ve been drooling, but it
was hard to tell from a distance. When Harry turned the light off and slipped downstairs and out of
the house it was almost two in the morning.

His parents hadn’t noticed a thing it appeared the next day, and they continued not to notice as he
went over to Louis’ a few more times during the coming weeks. A couple of months came and
went quickly like that. Football training, hanging out with Zayn, sexual excursions with Louis
Tomlinson… It became a routine. But it was not always a blur of friends, sex, and footie. There
were other things, too. His parents would fight often. Then they’d be quiet, and he’d barely see
either of them. Some days they would look happy, and Harry would feel relieved for a few days
until it started all over again.

Louis and his fits of passion during football were becoming less difficult to handle, but Jas didn’t
appear to cease her attempts to disturb him. He still made an effort to make sure he didn’t run into
her. He wanted her to get over it, to leave him be, but kept feeling her unsettling presence at school.
It was hard to stomach.

There were good days at school as well, though. There was an especially gleeful day in November
when the boys began talking about old movies during lunch. Harry listened as Zayn mentioned a
musical, and his eyes fell towards the other side of the room, knowing that Louis was right there
with his friends. It made him think of Louis’ Grease DVD, and he began singing a song from it, the
guys at his table joining in with laughter. Feeling inspired, he stood up on the table. He pushed his
hands into his pockets and began moving his hips side to side. He couldn’t help but look over at
Louis as he enacted a scene from the movie, grinning as he did. Louis looked extremely pissed off,
and it made Harry laugh even more. Louis was very easy to wind up. In many ways. Harry was
learning how.

He noticed when Louis stalked down the aisle nearest them, fringe in his eyes and brows furrowed
aggressively. Harry began dancing more. When Louis didn’t say anything as he passed, he found
himself oddly disappointed. He called out, “Hey!”

Louis spun around. “Please don’t speak to me, you’re disrespecting the entire Grease community
with your dancing, and I am repulsed.”

He was so serious that Harry couldn’t help but laugh at him. He jumped down from the table, and
began making dance moves towards him. He had started liking getting a rise out of him when it
was on purpose. He knew Louis’ energy and agitation could be redirected with a little help.

“I am going to gag. Please stop, you’re embarrassing the entire school.”

“Why don’t you show me how to do it then?” he suggested, and he heard some of the people at the
table laugh behind him. He hadn’t exactly meant for it to be a joke, but it was surely suggestive.
He leaned a little closer, voice very quiet. “I know you can roll your hips.”

Louis looked absolutely disgraced, and quickly jerked away from him. “And if you don’t stop, you
won’t know what that feels like anymore.” He turned around and sped away.

Harry watched him leave, entirely enjoying the way Louis’ cheeks had turned absolutely scarlet.
Had he not realised that Harry knew that he liked this? They were regularly sleeping together!
Harry had been in his bed on multiple occasions, all right. Louis had to have understood that Harry
knew he enjoyed it, right?

Football was going well recently. It was by no means perfect, but at least they hadn’t lost so far.
Harry had made plenty of goals during the first half of the season, but he didn’t feel like he was
peaking. He had more to give, and he was certain Louis was the problem most of the time. It was
getting a tad better, but they had loads to work on yet. Harry wasn’t satisfied until they played to
perfection.

That night, they were to play at home. Harry’s parents were in Doncaster, but he hadn’t mentioned
the match to them. His parents had missed all of them this year, and he wasn’t about to ask them to
come simply to be rejected. Even if they did show up, they’d probably draw attention to
themselves. That afternoon they’d spent an hour arguing in the kitchen about Christmas. Whose
parents would they go to? Who would drive to get Gemma from uni if they went all the way to
London to Harry’s uncle’s place instead? Harry had rolled his eyes as he passed them on his way
out of the house. It was November, for God’s sake. He’d slammed the door and driven off.
It was a busy night. Plenty of people had come to watch them finish the first half of the season
before December hit. As the lads got ready in the locker room there was music playing, and the
small set of cheerleaders had joined them to paint their faces with Donny colours, red and black.
Louis was in a good mood for once, shouting and chanting with Stan atop the benches. Even Coach
was joining the fun for a bit, but he grabbed Harry’s shoulder when he passed him.

“Harry,” he said, latching his arm around his shoulders. Harry looked up at Coach Abrahams by
his side, but the man was glancing out over the sea of people hustling through the locker room.

“Yeah?”

“You know that Chelsea has a great academy, too, right?”

“Chelsea?” repeated Harry dubiously.

“Yes, Chelsea, Harry,” he said. “I know you’re all set on Manchester like many of the boys on the
team, but I want you to expand your options a bit. You’re an excellent striker, but the competition
is fierce. Everyone your age who isn’t already at the academies wants to get in.”

He swallowed. “You don’t think I’m good enough to get in at Manchester.”

Coach Abrahams looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I know you’re good enough. You and
Tomlinson are the best players I’ve had in years. But the two of you need to make it work, and
either way, the competition’s rough.”

Harry glanced over at where Louis was getting black stripes painted on his cheeks. “Is Louis
interested in Chelsea, too?”

Coach shook his head. “He won’t hear any of it. He’s only got United in his head. Don’t do that,
Harry."

“Are you going to try to talk to him about it?”

“I’ve tried many times,” he sighed. “Last year he basically told me he’d rather stop playing
football if he couldn’t do it for United.”

Harry snorted. Somehow, he believed that. It was funny, to a point. Louis must have realised how
difficult it was going to be to get into Manchester? Every kid on a school team wanted to play
there. Harry didn’t want to be that narrow-minded.

“I’m interested,” he said. “In Chelsea.”

Coach nodded. “Good boy.”

“But don’t get me wrong,” he interrupted. “If Manchester want me, I’m there.”

He smiled as Coach laughed and then began to call the other boys’ attention. They had to get out
and warm up. As people were leaving the locker room, the movement a blur of red jerseys, Harry
felt someone’s hand grab hold of his waist and pull him backward into the corner of the room. His
heart began beating harder, and he heard Louis whisper, “How’s that rug burn?” in his ear.

“Getting brave?” he asked tightly, feeling the way Louis’ chest was pressing up against his back.
He felt Louis squeeze harder around him, his hips rolling up to press against his arse.

“Still want me to teach you…?”

Harry inhaled, trying to ignore the way Louis’ body felt against his. His breath tingled on his neck,
and his hand was starting to touch his stomach, lower and lower. It was extremely arousing, and if
he didn’t stop Harry was going to get hard. Louis’ hips pressed against him again.

“Stop it, or I’ll elbow you,” he hissed, and Louis took a moment to squeeze him again before
letting him go. Harry instantly moved away, walking out the door and leaving him behind.

Harry adored the pleasure of Louis so easily falling into him whenever he got them started, but he
was beginning to notice how overwhelmingly tingly and flustered he felt when Louis initiated it.
Harry already knew how much he was affected by Louis’ touch, but now he was also noticing how
hard it was to say no to him. Especially when he was in a good mood and actively trying to entice
him. Fucking hell.

Louis’ mood didn’t falter, and the outcome of the match certainly didn’t deter it. Louis ended up
scoring twice, and Harry nearly did, too, but narrowly hit the goal post in his attempt. Either way,
the match resulted in a win. At first, it was easy to melt into the celebrations. Harry hugged his
teammates and praised Liam’s two immaculate saves from the second half. They laughed and
celebrated joyously, but then, as usual, his friends were approached by friends and family, and he
felt that perpetual ache return. He wondered whether he perhaps should’ve asked his parents to
come and watch the match after all.

Harry drove home alone after the match without showering, distracting himself by letting flashes of
the game repeat themselves in his head. There were many good things; the passes had been precise
and on target, but they needed to practice getting the ball out of their own defensive zones quicker
when they were dealing with the opposing pressure. He was thinking of some one-touch exercises
for next Wednesday as he parked the Rover in the driveway. The light was on in the house, he
noticed. His parents seemed to be home. He should have been happier about that than he was.

He opened the door and kicked off his shoes, slowly trailing through the living room towards the
kitchen. His parents sat at the dining table, quietly talking over plates of dinner they appeared to
have ordered.

His mother looked up at him, raising a brow at his sweaty clothes. “Where have you been, my
love?”

“Football,” he stated. He opened a cupboard in the kitchen, finding the large container of protein
powder. He mixed a large spoon with water, jostling it inside the shaker.

“I didn’t know you had football so late?”

“Was a match.”

“I didn’t know you still played this year,” said his father. Harry turned around in the kitchen,
looking back at his parents.

“Where do you think I go after school every day?” he asked. They blinked at him. He shook the
shaker harder. “Oh, that’s right,” he nodded. “You’re never home, so how would you know?”

His mother’s mouth was slightly ajar, her eyes looking bewildered and sad at the same time. His
father was simply staring at him like he hadn’t fully understood what he’d said.

“Don’t worry,” Harry continued. He kept shaking the mug. “I know you’re very busy.”

They still didn’t say anything, simply watching him as though they couldn’t get any words out.
Harry stared at them, at the food they had presumably picked up from the fancy steak house in
town, and at their red wine glasses.

“Where were you again the other week, mum? York? Or was it New York? I can’t really keep up.”
He shook the mug. His arm was beginning to ache. “What about you, Dad? Smooching blokes on
pastures at the club?”

“Wait a sec —” his mother began, but he interrupted her instantly.

“Wait?” he repeated. “All do is wait! Wait for either of you to realise that I fucking exist in this
fucking house!” He threw the shaker vigorously, down into the sink where the cap broke off,
sending protein shake splattering across the wall and counter.

His mother gasped loudly, hands covering her face, and his father sat as though petrified in his seat.
Harry watched them for two seconds, but still, they said nothing.

Fantastic, he thought. Then he left the room, strode towards the door, and left the house.

It was dark outside. He started jogging, and even though he had played ninety minutes and
stoppage time he couldn’t bring his legs to stop moving. He ran to the school under the street
lights, circled the now empty footie pitch and bleachers, and headed back into the townhouse area.
It felt empty without a football on his toes, but he didn’t want to walk. He hated walking — it
made it easy to think about all kinds of things, instead of just the burn in his calves and the dryness
of his throat.

His phone displayed 11:30 PM when he got back home. The light was still on inside, but his
father’s car was gone. Harry’s locked phone screen was empty. Louis hadn’t texted him yet. He
would usually have done so by midnight, and from the way he’d touched Harry earlier that night,
he would be sure to invite him over. Honestly, Harry would’ve preferred to simply get into the car
and drive over to Louis’s immediately, but he hadn’t actually asked him to come over yet. And
Harry was probably in grave need of a shower.

Reluctantly he opened the front door. He didn’t want to face his parents. His dad seemed to have
left, but his mother and her disappointed eyes were painful enough to face. He found her on the
sofa in the living room. Her phone was clutched in her hands, but she seemed to have fallen asleep.
He walked straight past her and stalked upstairs.

In his room, he put his phone on the nightstand and headed into the shower. He cleaned
thoroughly, scrubbing his head with shampoo and his body with soap, hoping the time would move
faster so he could leave and head over to Louis’ house as soon as possible. By the time he was
finished, it was almost midnight. Louis still hadn’t texted him. He sat down on the bed, and
popped his headphones on, hoping the chirp of his phone would cut through the music and alert
him as soon as Louis’ sister was asleep.

He woke up 03:56 AM. The music was still on, and he pushed the headphones off his aching ears.
He must have fallen asleep. He opened one eye, glancing at his phone screen. It was still empty.
Louis hadn’t texted.

He rolled over, the back of his head hitting the pillow. He stared up at the dark ceiling and
wrapped the duvet closer around himself. Why hadn’t Louis texted him? The darkness stared back.
It had no answers, and Harry stared himself to sleep, that same question bouncing back and forth
until he felt nauseous.

He woke up again, at 11:13. The house was quiet, and when he glanced out the window it looked
like the cars were missing. He felt the same question from last night come back. Attempting to
squash the blot of anxiety it caused, he picked up his phone and found Louis’ number. He wanted
him to come over, if only so he could feel better about being left hanging.

“Why didn’t you call me yesterday?” he asked the moment he heard the click that meant Louis had
accepted his call.

He seemed confused when he answered. “Why are you calling me now, is the question. Why would
I call you?”

Harry stared at the empty driveway through the window. What was Louis on about? “Are you
serious?” he asked, thinking back on the night before. “So, you were just going to rile me up before
the match and then not fuck me?”

He kept staring at the empty driveway. Louis’ answer came after a couple of seconds. “ I wasn’t
aware we had rules. Were you waiting up for a booty call all night, or?” Louis’ voice was edging
on laughing.

“Yes,” said Harry, irate. Wasn’t that obvious? Why was Louis so amused by that? “You text me
once your sister’s asleep, that’s what you do. How’ve you not caught on yet?” Had Louis seriously
not grasped that this was a recurring deal? “Christ, I knew you were slow, but…”

“Right.”

“So?” he asked.

“So…?”

Harry sighed. “Are you coming over then?”

“I can’t this weekend.”

It took a moment for him to understand the words coming from the other end of the line. “What.”

“Can’t.”

"What do you mean 'can't'?"

"As in cannot. Don't have time. Am busy."

So… In conclusion, Louis had left him hanging. And right now, he was declining Harry’s offer of
sex.

“Are you serious?” he asked quietly, suddenly rattled.

“Yes,” he answered simply. “I can’t this weekend. Stop being a drama queen and suck your own
cock.”

But… Louis wanted him every time he asked? He was right there, at his beck and call.

It was difficult to fathom. The annoyance was building and turning into something heavier. He
stared down at the empty yard in front of the house. “Fine,” he got out through his teeth. “If you
don’t have time, why should I give you time ever again?”

He hung up.

Fuck.
Fuck.

He was so tired of this. He was tired of people who didn’t care. He was tired of people pretending
they wanted him around and then turned around like nothing. More than that, he despised how he
had seemingly out of nowhere come to rely on Louis Fucking Tomlinson of all people. How much
he all of a sudden depended on being able to sneak out and leave his empty ghost house to fall into
Louis’ warm bed, if just for a few hours.

Louis had told him no. For the first time. It was more than Louis rejecting his proposition; it was
the fact that Harry didn’t have anyone else to distract him, to lean on. Zayn was his best friend, of
course, but he was someone who had many friends and was unpredictably busy. Harry didn’t have
many friends, and his home was beginning to feel like anything but a refuge. He hated how much
he wanted to be in Louis’ room instead. It didn’t make sense, because he hated Louis.

Fucking Louis Tomlinson. Harry knew he didn’t like him, but he had started to like his bed and his
room and his fluffy pillows. And the warmth of Louis’ body, right up against his own.

He couldn’t keep doing this. If Louis could fuck up his whole night by being something as silly as
unavailable, then Harry was beginning to lose the plot. He couldn’t allow himself to let Louis
Tomlinson do his head in like this. He didn’t need Louis. And he certainly didn’t need more things
to keep him up all night.

He had to stop seeing Louis Tomlinson.

He went downstairs to the kitchen to have breakfast. His stomach was aching from not eating
anything since before the match last night. The mess in the kitchen had been cleaned, and his
shaker was waiting inside the cupboard again, clean, as though the previous night never happened.
He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the worktop and headed outside to the backyard. There
was a bit of sun, but it was evident it was autumn now. There were leaves on the ground, making it
look brown and yellow rather than green, and the pool had been covered at least two months ago.
November was almost done.

He was standing in a t-shirt and shorts, just staring out into the garden when he heard the door to
the kitchen creak open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother. She wore
makeup, her long hair was in a bun, and there was a knitted blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
She held two cups of tea.

“Here,” she said when she reached him.

He took the cup, but didn’t say anything back. The heat from the steaming tea warmed his fingers,
but the wind bit his cheeks and tore at his hair. His mother sat down on one of the lawn chairs and
gestured for Harry to join her. He sat down, eyes falling down to his feet. She opened the blanket
and he scooted closer until she could wrap it around both of them.

“Your dad looked for you all night yesterday,” she said quietly. “He was driving all over town.”

Harry kept his eyes down.

“I only noticed you’d come home when I was on my way to get clothes for you from your
bedroom. I thought you were planning to stay out all night.”

“I just needed a second to breathe.”

Her shoulder pressed a little heavier against his. “I know. You always run away when you get
angry. Or scared.”
“I’m not scared,” he said. “I was angry.” It wasn’t quite true. He did feel scared. Scared of being
left behind.

“I’m sorry that we’re away so much.”

He looked away. She was always sorry.

They sat in silence for several minutes. The cold was beginning to make his face redden. His
socked feet were freezing, but his hands were warm.

“Don’t worry, mum,” he said eventually. He thought of Louis. And he thought of his parents. They
didn’t have to worry, because he would be fine. He didn’t need any of them.
 Chapter 6

The next time he saw Louis, he was leaning against his locker at school. He was wearing a black t-
shirt with sleeves that were folded up to the tips of his shoulders. It was almost December, but his
arms were still naturally tanned and smooth. He didn’t even flex, yet his biceps looked sculpted.
His hair was soft, as if newly washed, and it hung down into his eyes. Harry hated how
outrageously good-looking he was, especially when he wasn’t planning on talking to him again.
This thing was over.

Louis only noticed that Harry was across the room when Zayn walked past and began rolling a
tobacco cigarette on top of his maths book. Louis glanced over at Harry, and it almost seemed like
he was about to walk up, but swiftly changed his mind. He raised a brow towards him, but Harry
jerked his jaw away. He didn’t want to hear him out.

He continued ignoring Louis for the following days. At football, he simply did as instructed, and he
planned not to speak a word in Louis’ direction during his own practice hours. Louis frequently
looked like he wanted to say something, but Harry kept his promise to himself and didn’t let him
get close enough to talk.

In addition to ignoring Louis Tomlinson, he gave his parents the cold shoulder. He didn’t want to
speak to them, either. However, they were both suddenly and inexplicably spending all of their free
time at the house. One day he found them eating biscuits and drinking tea in the sitting room after
football practice. He tuned out their attempts at conversation and instead headed up to his room.
The following day went on similarly, but Harry drove to Zayn’s house to avoid them instead.

On Wednesday, he was on his way to practice when the inevitable happened. He was strolling
between the main building and locker rooms, but when he turned the corner, he stopped dead. Then
he spun around and strode the other way. He stalked off, but he heard her call after him.

“Harry — Harry, please stop!”

“No.” He shook his head firmly.

“Come on!” He heard her voice as she hurried after him. He felt a deep, nauseating discomfort in
the middle of his chest begin to build, and a claustrophobic fog threaten his personal space as he
heard her close in behind him. Her hand touched his arm — not harshly, but it was enough for him
to stagger.

“Stop! Fuck,” he breathed, taking two steps back. She stopped, and he found himself staring at her
furiously. She was wearing the same puffed jacket she always did during winter. Her hair was
straight that day, and her eyes looked sharp-edged. Harry had once thought she looked nice, but
now all he saw were teeth and lips like blood.

“Harry, I want to talk. That’s it.”

“But I don’t want to hear it! Please just stop texting, and waiting around for me! I don’t want to be
near you.”

Her face was twisted up in emotions he couldn’t gauge. “I just want to talk.”

“Jas!” His stomach was turning in on itself. “We’re not friends anymore. We’re never going to be
friends again. You’re the one who made sure of that.”
“What you did to me wasn’t very nice, either.”

“What you’re doing now is worse. Leave.”

She was silent for a few seconds before she crossed her arms. “Fine.”

He turned and began back towards the locker rooms.

“Harry!” she called, and he stopped for the barest second to hear her say in quiet without inflection,
“Just don’t forget that I know.”

He shook his head, stomach on the way up to his throat. “You were my friend,” he mustered out,
speaking without looking back.

“And you were mine,” she said.

He left. He couldn’t stay there. She hated him, and she still wanted to hurt him, despite claiming
she just wanted to talk about what happened. Harry walked into the locker room, went straight to
the toilets, and vomited until his stomach was completely empty.

Walking out to training, he felt revolting turns in his chest still, but as if that wasn’t enough, he had
to deal with Louis. That day, he seemed irked. Harry had managed to avoid him sufficiently that
week, but during a water break Louis strode up to his side. They were a few yards from the other
boys, but Louis glanced around before he spoke.

“Are you done being silly any time soon?” he said, brow raised just like the other day. His voice
was quiet, but there was a touch of annoyance and exasperation to be detected there. He looked like
he was about to sigh, as though Harry needed to simply get over this little phase so they could get
back to business.

Harry didn’t answer, only fixed his headband and aimed a stare at Louis’ perfectly carved
cheekbones.

Louis crossed his arms. “Stop being a spoiled brat. You can come over during my free period on
Friday, all right?”

He really thought he could have him back so easily. It seemed like he thought he had Harry wound
around his finger, just like Harry thought he’d had Louis at his beck and call. Harry didn’t like that
thought and had no clue how to respond to Louis, so he walked away without a word. It didn’t
appear to deter him, however. Throughout practice, he kept his eyes on Harry, unblinking. If Harry
accidentally met the gaze, his face would soften and fall into some sort of look of allure, eyes full
of win and invite.

The problem was that he had never looked at Harry like that before. Not so… enticingly. He was
usually glaring and insulting, but that day his face was full of charm and encouragement. He
wanted Harry to give in. But then he would win, and Harry wasn’t especially interested in that. To
make him stop it, he threw a football at him. It smacked into his back, and Louis promptly flipped
him off, but the stares ceased.

It wasn’t until the end of practice that Harry couldn’t ignore him anymore. It wasn’t something that
Louis did or something he said. The boy was standing at the corner of the pitch, where the boys’
belongings were piled up. He was grabbing the case of water bottles, and Harry had to fetch his
own jacket that was on the ground by his side. He was on his way to get it when he stopped in his
tracks.
They all wore hats, tapered training sweats, and cotton gloves during practice these days, but even
though his skin was also sweaty from training, he felt cold all over when he noticed Jasmine and
her group of friends strolling past the pitch. He stood petrified and watched in great discomfort as
Jasmine stopped next to Louis Tomlinson. He couldn’t move closer, but he couldn’t run away,
either. He had to hear what she was saying.

“Good practice, Louis.”

She sounded fake. Harry’s heart beat like a hammer. What the fuck was she doing?

“Thanks.” Louis took a sip from the water bottle he held.

She stayed put. “So, do you think you’re going to win the scoring league next term?”

“Hopefully.”

“Well, don’t let anyone beat you.” Her smile was wide and her eyes crinkled.

“Not a chance,” he smiled.

Harry didn’t know what came over him. It was like electricity had become pent up within, and
watching Louis smile, like that, caused a circuit. It was that smile; that gorgeous, spikey,
completely stupid, and poisonous smile that made Harry’s body feel like wet paper and rubber all
at once.

He hated that smile. And he absolutely detested that Louis had aimed it at her.

Jasmine disappeared around the bleachers with the rest of the group, and Harry found himself
instantly behind Louis. He wanted to simultaneously kill him and steal him away. He heard Louis
exhale in surprise as Harry’s arm locked over his chest from behind.

“Woah,” he gasped, hand grasping at the arm that Harry had latched around his neck. He began to
struggle, his back squirming against Harry’s chest.

“If you ever wanted to see me again, you’ve definitely fucked it up now.” The words came out in a
hiss, and Louis yanked away from him. Harry pushed him off, and then seized the jacket that Louis
had been cradling in his hand for the last few minutes. Styles was written on the back of it. “That’s
mine.”

He stalked away, leaving Louis behind on the edge of the football field. It felt like the blood in his
veins was boiling, sizzling. The very tips of his fingers felt hot. Lately, it was as though anger was
lingering right under the surface of his skin. Louis perpetually ignited him as it was, and clearly
Jasmine had given him major issues. And she had done that on purpose, knowing it would bother
him.

Perhaps all of this had finally done his head in.

He headed straight for the car. He didn’t want to face the lads, or Louis for that matter. He refused
to run into Jasmine again. He started the car and began exiting the parking lot. Halfway home, he
realised he didn’t want to go there, either. He didn’t want to see his parents pretend they were okay.

It was cold, and December had just begun. Running around the park with a football didn’t seem so
fun anymore. He didn’t know where to go except to Zayn’s house. He drove past his place, but he
could see that his parents’ car was parked out front, and he supposed they would all be hanging out
together by then. He didn’t want to bother them. He forced himself to go home.
 *

Louis didn’t reach out to him. Not that Harry had expected him to. He felt shameful about his
actions. He hadn’t physically fought with Louis in a long while, and the anger had washed over
him so unexpectedly. He hadn’t been able to control himself.

Thursday, he didn’t particularly want to go to school, but his mother was working from home that
week. If he stayed at the house, she’d have questions or want to talk. He didn’t want that. He didn’t
want to talk to anyone. On Friday, he left school after lunch. He drove out to the park and walked
for an hour before finally heading home. He knew his mother and father would be home, but
despite their efforts of trying to apologise for leaving him alone too much, he didn’t feel better by
their presence.

They were just there. It didn’t matter, because it wasn’t like they did anything together anyway. It
wasn’t like they wouldn’t go back to their normal lives in a week or two. It wasn’t like Harry
couldn’t see they both hated being there. He could tell by the way his mother would sigh and blurt
out passive-aggressive phrases at his father, and the way that his father would leave the room the
second his mother would walk in. They weren’t happy and pretending that they were wouldn’t
make it better.

Harry spent his Saturday watching animal documentaries, face pressed against his pillows. It had
been a week since he’d talked to Louis, and more since he’d touched him. His mind kept returning
to Louis’ hands and his room. The cluster of things stacked on the desk, and the soft bed with
fluffed pillows. He kept thinking about how he’d pounced on him on Wednesday. He thought of
Jasmine. He thought of Louis’ fucking smile at her.

What even was that? He knew that Jasmine was up to something, just like when she’d greeted
Louis in the hallway all those weeks ago. But Louis didn’t know that. What did he think of her?
Did he imagine she was just nice? Why had he looked at her like that? Did he look at everyone like
that? Harry doubted it. He’d never seen Louis flirt, but he was certain if he tried then he’d kill. If
only Louis knew what kind of person she was.

On Sunday morning, there was silence. Harry’s eyelids felt glued down, crusted in the corners.
He’d stayed so long in the bed that weekend that he suspected he might not be able to leave it. His
brain seemed stuck in guilt that morning, too, and it was becoming overbearing. He didn’t want to
think about it anymore. He hated it.

He tried to put his mind to other things. He even attempted to study. There was a quiz in French the
following week, and honestly, studying hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind the last couple of
months. After showering, he managed to revise for an hour or so before he started to hear noises
from the ground floor. Perhaps any other teenager would have been startled, but Harry was used to
it. Loud voices and shouts were beginning to feel like background noise.

His parents were fighting again. He supposed staying home for so long and remaining civil was
simply impossible for them. Harry managed to keep his eyes on his school books for half an hour
before he heard his own name being tossed around. First, it sounded like his mother yelling, and
later it was his father’s voice bringing it up again. Then it was like they couldn’t stop saying it.
Harry this — Harry that. They said his name so many times he wondered if they’d forgotten he
was actually a person, rather than an abstract trophy they seemed to claw at.

“Shut up,” he groaned, hands digging into his hair. It was getting longer, curling around his jaw
now, but it wasn’t enough to block the noise out.

Harry waited until he couldn’t bear the hungry ache in his stomach anymore. He hadn’t eaten since
last night, and although he didn’t want to talk to his parents, he eventually had to make his way
downstairs to the kitchen. He also really wanted to tell them to shut up.

He knew there were pancakes in the fridge that he hadn’t touched the day before. His stomach
gurgled at the thought of it, but when he walked into the room his mother was blocking the fridge.
She stood in front of it, wearing sweats and a cardigan, arms crossed. Harry glanced to the other
side of the room, where his father was leaning against the kitchen table, eyes hard and angry.

Usually, they were quick to make out like everything was okay once he’d walk into the room. Not
today it seemed.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked.

No one answered.

“Seriously, what’s happening? You were talking about me.”

“Ask your father —”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Anne!” He raised his hands in the air. “Jesus! It’s always my fault, isn’t it?!”

“Whose fault is it then? Mine? You always blame me. I’m done trying so hard if you don’t!”

“I don’t care? You don’t care. You’re the one trying to change everything.”

“And change is so bad?”

“If all’s fine before, how is change ever better?”

Harry’s mother covered her face for a short second. When she removed them, she looked
completely and thoroughly exasperated. “I’m finished with this,” she exclaimed. “You don’t care
about our family!”

Harry stood there, an invisible shape of stone.

´
“What have I done to make you hate me so much?” asked Harry’s father. He looked full of anger
and frustration. “It’s one afternoon, Anne! One.”

“One here, one there! It adds up, Des!”

“You’re making it worse in your head.”

Her eyes were trained on Harry’s father, wide and full of pain. “I can’t do this.” She grabbed onto
Harry’s wrist where he stood. Her nails dug into his skin as she pulled him out of the kitchen and
towards the front door. “Let’s go, Harry. You don’t deserve this.”

He was so astonished by her actions that his legs simply followed as she tugged him into the
hallway. She grabbed a pair of shoes and tossed them at him, forcefully pushing a coat onto his
shoulders. His mind raced, but his mum was steering him outside while his father hurried after
them in socks and golfing attire.

She steered Harry out and towards the car. It rained, and the cold bit into his cheeks instantly.

“What the hell are you doing, Anne?” yelled Harry’s father.

“I don’t need you, Des,” she called back across the lawn. There were tears on her face. “Not like
this. We are leaving.”

His father stood still on the porch. His voice was steady, but quiet. “Then don’t come back, Anne.”

She stopped on the pavement, next to her car. Her hair was unbrushed, and her face pink. Her eyes
flickered wetly between the porch and the car. Then she looked at Harry. Her expression changed.
“Oh, honey —” she started, like she hadn’t registered the emotion on his face until then. Her hand
reached to pat his cheek, but he tore away from her. He began backing away, shaking his head at
her.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, voice cracking. Her mouth moved, but words didn’t come
out. “You think you are better?” he continued, staring at her in disbelief. The wind was tearing at
their clothes, but it was also pushing him further away from her. And he was glad of it. He stared
right into her green, tearful eyes. “At least he doesn’t pretend he wants to be here. You can stop,
too.”

Once again, he was walking off. Leaving. He couldn’t go back to that house. He couldn’t face his
father, and neither could he look at his mother’s face and pretend to be happy when she apologised
and told him she loved him so dearly. It would be salt in wounds.

He headed down the street. It was cold; his coat wasn’t thick enough for December. The wind
dragged its edges against his bare cheeks, and all he could do to protect his ears was pull the hood
of his jumper over his head.

He felt nauseous. His insides screeched, but his voice didn’t work. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t
scream. He felt tears on his cheeks, but he ignored them. He kept walking, but he didn’t actually
know where to go. Everything was cold, and no matter where he went, he couldn’t forget any of it.
His brain was a sledgehammer that pounded into the sides of his head. He stopped for a second on
the edge of the pavement, sitting down, and fitting his head between his knees. He thought he was
going to vomit again.

Where could he go? Zayn was probably busy, like always.

He couldn’t go home.

He hated this. He despised this feeling that kept pelting onto him, without reprieve. Most weeks he
felt more anxiety than happiness, and it was deteriorating him from the inside. The only time he
felt okay lately was when he was with Louis Tomlinson. When he was lost in that freaking idiot’s
touches. When there was nothing in his body and mind but pleasure and warmth. It was ghastly to
admit it, but the only place he wanted to go was to his house, to his cluttery room, and soft bed. He
just wanted to feel okay.

His footsteps led him there. As he approached, he spotted the car in the small driveway, and he
could see lights on inside the house. He didn’t know if Louis would slam the door in his face, but
all of him simply wanted to go in and hide, hopefully with Louis against him.

He raised his hand and knocked twice. It only took a few moments before the door swung open in
front of him, and there he was. Louis Fucking Tomlinson, holding the door open to Harry’s only
place of refuge. He was wearing training sweats and a t-shirt (because when did he not?), and his
hair was soft and unstyled. He looked surprised, of course. Harry didn’t usually walk up and knock
on his door. And the last time they’d talked, Harry had pounced on him.

Harry almost turned and left. Why was he here? Louis would probably yell at him, and tell him to
go. But then, where would he go? He had to at least ask.
He swallowed. “Hi.”

His eyes roamed over Harry, hesitantly. “Hey?” His voice wasn’t hard, and he looked slightly
caught off guard. He didn’t look like he was about to yell. “What… er, what are you doing here?”

Harry swallowed again, rubbing his hand over his face to hide any traces of tears still on his face.
“Can I stay here for a while?”

“What?” Louis looked even more confused. He looked incredulous, actually, like he had no clue
what was going on. Harry didn’t, either, to be fair.

But he had nowhere else to go, and no other place he’d rather be. So, he hoped with all of his heart
that Louis would find it in him to just… let him in. If only Harry could convince him, just this time.

“I know,” he tried. “I know it’s weird and awkward, and I… I really wouldn’t do this if I had any
other option, trust me, but…” He breathed raggedly, knowing he was begging Louis Tomlinson to
take pity on him. It was repulsive, but at the same time, he was too desperate to let pride stand in
the way. “I need somewhere to stay. Only for a couple of hours.”

Louis remained silent as he appraised him. He stared at Harry like he couldn’t believe that he was
asking this of him. Harry couldn’t, either, but he wished Louis wasn’t so set in his ways. That he
could make just one exception.

Louis’ hand was still on the door handle, his body blocking the threshold.

Harry inhaled, begging for something to give him strength. “Louis,” he whispered, staring at his
undecided face. “Please.”

It took a while before he said anything. Harry could see cogwheels turning in his head, but when
Louis did speak, it was everything that Harry wanted to hear.

“Get in.” He moved aside, and all Harry could do was fall in, like it was heaven waiting behind the
gates.

It was different being there during the day. The lights were on, and Louis didn’t try to be quiet as
he moved about the house. He didn’t jump over the creaky step on the stairs on the way up, and he
didn’t tiptoe outside his bedroom. The blinds didn’t cover the window, and the room looked
bigger. Of course, Harry had been there during the day once or twice before, but it had been very
brief and he’d hardly looked around. It was a while since, though, and that was before he’d grown
to like the feeling of Louis’ pillows in the night.

Louis’ eyes were trained directly on his face; he could feel it. As soon as the bedroom door closed
behind them, there was an awkward silence hanging over them. Louis seemed confused still, and
his eyes were unusually penetrating. Harry didn’t know what he was supposed to say now that he
was actually there, but he had no intention of explaining himself to Louis. Nevertheless, there was
a tightness in his chest and an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

He didn’t want to feel any of that, so, without looking at Louis, he slowly began to step out of his
wet sneakers and pull off his hoodie. He didn’t look directly at the other boy, but he could sense
ease in his movements as they both began to undress. This part was easy; they had done it so many
times before. Harry didn’t need to say anything as he lied back on the bed, and Louis simply
grabbed the lube and condoms from the nightstand drawer on the side of the bed. He didn’t ask
any questions, and for that Harry was thankful. He didn’t want to talk, and he didn’t need Louis to
pity him. He wanted to forget the whole day, and Louis’ smell, his bed, and his body would usually
do the trick and erase everything else in his mind.

Despite his intentions, he couldn’t help the thoughts suddenly returning. Louis was heavy and
warm on top of him, but there was none of their normal urgency. It was still intense, but slower
than usual, and it felt different. Over the last couple of months, they’d learned to do this in many
various ways, but never like this. Not quietly, not slowly.

As they moved together, their bodies were gentler and wound snugly around one another. Louis’
thrusts were deep and his breath hit lightly over Harry’s lips in even exhales. His eyes were closed
for a moment where Harry’s were open, and for a brief second his mouth brushed unintentionally
right over Harry’s. During that tiny moment, Harry felt Louis’ lips. They were soft, thin, a little
wet. At the same time, Louis’ fringe played lightly in the crease between Harry’s eyebrows.

Harry twisted his face away because it all suddenly felt… It felt like they didn’t just hate each
other.

His forehead fit into the side of Louis’ neck instead, but a quiet sob slipped out of him without
permission. He immediately wished he hadn’t made the noise when Louis pulled away from him.

“Hey,” he said quietly, and Harry regretted his words before he had even said them. “Do you want
to stop?”

“No,” he shook his head firmly. Just come closer again, he wanted to say. “No, keep going.”

He seemed tentative. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please,” he exhaled. Since when did Louis hesitate? “Just fuck me.”

Louis nodded and continued, this time with a new sense of urgency. Harry’s hands slipped into
Louis’ hair, and for the first time, his thoughts were only on the way Louis was moving inside of
him. It didn’t seem to be long before Louis tensed up and moaned into Harry’s sweaty neck, his
chest pressing down against his body. Hearing him sound like that pushed Harry further to the
edge, and as Louis moved away and got rid of the condom, he regretted the distance between them.
For a quick moment, he met the other boy’s eyes, and there was an odd moment of stillness.

Louis was the one to break it. He didn’t seem like he knew what the moment meant, either. Instead,
he sidled up against Harry on the bed and wrapped a hand around him, beginning to smoothly jerk
him off. Harry closed his eyes and gave himself over to the pleasant touch of Louis’ body against
his.

It caught him by surprise when he felt Louis’ wet mouth around him. He glanced down and kept a
moan in as the picture of Louis’ lips around him burned into his mind. Louis had never done this to
him before, but it certainly was a welcome surprise. Louis’ cheekbones were sharp on a normal
day, but from a downward angle… there was nothing like it. They could cut glass, and Harry’s
eyes couldn’t keep closed for long. He couldn’t not look at him. It was… Harry repressed a moan
that stemmed from the bottom of his throat. It was unfair how someone could be so inexplicably
good at everything, and look fucking impeccable doing it.

He wasn’t sure if Louis counted, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing within one or another
minute. What was worse, was that Louis didn’t move as Harry’s hands tightened around him, only
stayed where he was as Harry came, thighs quivering against the mattress underneath.

When Louis finally moved away, Harry could do nothing. His limbs were papier-mâché on the
bed, and his mind was running over the images he’d just witnessed over and over.
“Um, are you okay?” Louis almost sounded concerned.

Harry slowly turned his head to the left, staring at Louis Fucking Tomlinson from the corner of his
eye. “You were fucking obscene.” Of course, he wasn’t okay. Louis Tomlinson had just done that.

Louis instantly rolled his eyes and turned away, like he was embarrassed to hear it. “Shut your
mouth, Styles.”

“You were!” he insisted, shock lingering and mixing with his beating pulse.

“Shut the hell up and be glad I sucked you off.” He finished the words with a slap of his palm
against Harry’s naked chest. Harry didn’t mind it; his thoughts were of the fact that he’d noticed
that Louis’ eyelashes were actually very long and pretty.

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, Lou.” He reached out, thoroughly revitalised, and pinched Louis’
cheek. He promptly received another slap from his hand in return. The boy leaned back, sitting up
slightly on the bed, and when he looked down at Harry, eyes squinted, a sudden concern tugged at
his eyebrow.

“Are you okay, though?” he asked.

That weighted feeling made itself known again. Harry tried to say something, but he wasn’t sure
what. He just couldn’t articulate it. And he didn’t want to talk about it. Also, since when did Louis
care about how Harry felt, anyhow?

“Yeah,” he said, playing it off. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Louis clearly didn’t believe him, because he scoffed and stood from the bed, wrapping the covers
around his chest. “Fine,” he said, walking away towards the bathroom. “Be in denial. I’m taking a
shower. Be gone when I’m done.”

Harry sent out a whistle after him, but it died as soon as he’d disappeared. When Louis was talking
it was almost easy to keep his voice light, but the moment he was left alone, he felt nothing but
cold and anxious. He heard the water in the shower start to drizzle, and he imagined getting up and
putting his clothes on, and walking out the door. None of him wanted to do that. He wanted to stay
in this room.

He listened to the sound of the shower, and suddenly decided he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if
Louis was trying to kick him out, Harry wasn’t going to be tossed out the door so easily. At least
not yet.

He rose from the bed and ignored the pile of clothes on the floor. He felt goosebumps rise on his
skin as he tiptoed over to the door leading into Louis’ bathroom, and felt another chill as his feet
touched the tiled floor inside. The bathroom wasn’t big, but there was a tub with a shower curtain
on the left-hand side. Harry slid the curtain aside and found Louis standing entirely still under the
fall of water, back against the wall. He wasn’t moving and seemed to relish in the heat of the water.
Harry didn’t mind watching his body for a few short seconds. He was beautiful, naturally. Harry
could see that, objectively.

“What are you doing?” he asked after a little while.

Louis’ eyes shot open, and he glared at where Harry stood, holding up the curtain. “No,” he said,
spice in his voice again. “What are you doing?”

Harry neglected his words and began climbing into the shower.
“But — no — Harry!” Louis was raising his hands, pushing at him without success. Harry
continued to ignore his attempts to keep him out, and sighed as the hot water drizzled onto his skin.
He glanced down at Louis, who was — half a head shorter — staring up in a perturbed scowl.
Louis crossed his arms, his forearms barely rubbing Harry’s chest. “Why are you still here?”

“Aw. You’re really cute when your hair’s all wet and plastered to your face. You look like a little
boy.”

Louis’ voice was dry. “Anything else, baby Tarzan?”

“Nope.” Harry turned and started to look for a shampoo among the bottles on the shelf in the
corner. There were surprisingly many things there. Loofas in different colours, several types of
conditioners, and shower products. He smirked back at Louis, raising a particular bottle. “Is it your
strawberry shampoo?”

“I have four sisters, idiot.”

“Hm.” That was a lot. “Why’re they in your bathroom then?”

“If you didn’t notice, there are two doors in here.”

“Oh.”

Fair enough. Harry hadn’t really considered that aspect of Louis’ life. He supposed he’d seen some
of his sisters a few times over the years, but it hadn’t occurred to him that Louis had a large family
and probably not all of the luxuries of being an only child in a wealthy home. Not that Harry was
an only child, but these days he often felt he was all alone anyway. He tried to shake off that hefty
feeling again. Goddammit.

“I bet you use it anyway,” he said, lifting the mood. “Did you use it before I got in? I think I gave
you plenty of time.”

Louis completely disregarded that and said loudly, “I’m getting out now.”

“So, you did use it. Come here,” Harry grabbed Louis’ arm as he tried to pass him, and pulled him
in close. “I want to smell it. Does it smell good?”

“What are you — Harry!”

Louis didn’t sound pleased about it, but suddenly Harry had him right up against himself again, his
back slick against Harry’s front. Harry didn’t hesitate to let his hands wrap around Louis’ chest,
and even though Louis’ mouth kept talking Harry knew he wasn’t going to try and move away.

“Harry, honestly, if you’re going to start getting off against me, I’m leaving.” He shifted slightly,
but it was hardly enough to break away. Harry couldn’t help the feeling of smugness that flared up
for a short moment. Louis could say that he didn’t want Harry, didn’t have time for him, or
whatever the fuck he was bullshitting with, but Harry was one hundred per cent certain that if they
were face to face with each other there was no way in hell that Louis was saying no to this.

No way. It felt too good when they were touching. Harry didn’t need Louis, but this… He wasn’t a
fool. He loved this.

His lips brushed against Louis’ shoulder, lightly at first. Then his neck, just below the line of his
hair. His skin was soft as ever and he did smell wonderful, like always. Louis didn’t say anything
as Harry’s lips moved across his shoulders and neck, inhaling, taking all of it in. The feeling of him
so close, waterdrops slowly sliding down their bodies…

“Harry,” said Louis finally. “What are you doing?”

“What you did to me before,” he murmured.

“But you were sad, I —”

It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t. Louis wasn’t dumb enough to think that all of this was because
Harry had been upset? It couldn’t be. Harry wasn’t an idiot. He totally adored this either way.

“And now I want to do this.”

It had nothing to do with condolences, and Louis better have known it. Harry didn’t stop, and Louis
didn’t make any other attempts to talk. His mouth ventured over every inch of Louis’ neck and
shoulders, kissing and dragging his tongue over inches of smooth, wet skin. His teeth grazed
Louis’ right collarbone for a brief second, and the exhale that he released sent vibrations all the
way through Harry. He couldn’t help it. The noises this boy made unintentionally were the ones
that sank right into Harry and buried down deep. If he could, he’d stay exactly there for the rest of
the day.

He couldn’t keep his hands off him, though. He couldn’t physically refrain from touching him
again. His hands slipped down along Louis’ chest, over his lean stomach, further yet… and closed
around his hard cock. His skin there was smooth, a little darker, and when Harry affirmed his grip
Louis didn’t protest, but allowed himself to be pressed back against Harry’s chest and rubbed by
his yearning palms. Soon, they were moving against one another in earnest once more. Harry
buried his face in the crook of Louis’ shoulder again, and when Louis came, his uneven, quiet, but
sweet exhales brought Harry over the edge. Overwhelmed by the heat of it all, he sunk to his knees
in front of Louis and slowly licked the cum off his stomach as the shower water splattered like rain
down over them.

With that, he got up and left the shower.

Harry’s legs were sluggish and his whole body felt spent as he walked home. Louis hadn’t come
out of the shower, and Harry had gotten dressed and left. The walk home wasn’t far, but his mind
was occupied with all kinds of thoughts.

The first thing was the dread of going home. He didn’t know what awaited him there, but his
phone had several missed calls from both of his parents. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, but there
was nowhere else he could go. He tried to slow down the walk further by prolonging the route, zig-
zagging between streets.

The second thing on his mind was the memories of the shower. The intensity and the intimacy
burned still on his skin. They had crossed some lines they hadn’t before, obviously, and he wasn’t
sure what it meant. Most probably it meant nothing, and Harry was dramatically overthinking it.
Louis wouldn’t switch up his act in school the slightest bit, and neither would Harry.

However, the third thing he was pondering as he strolled at the pace of a snail, was the very
faintest of brushes of Louis’ lips against his own. It had been swift, but nonetheless there. After all
this time, they’d actually never kissed, and honestly, Harry hadn’t had any desire to. What was the
point of kissing when the feeling of two bodies moving in rapid connection was mind-fuckingly
fantastic? It would only slow down movements and interrupt the feeling of excruciatingly good
bliss. So, how come the slightest of touches was now replaying itself in his mind then? He could
still feel Louis’ fringe tickling his forehead.

Today had been different. That was clear.

The fourth thing that swam around his mind was the fact that Louis had let him into his home at
all. They hadn’t talked in at least a week, and they weren’t friends. The opposite, frankly. But it
seemed Louis did have some decency in him after all. And, by the way, had he actually asked if
Harry was okay?

Eventually, Harry had to make it back home. He walked up the driveway regretfully, dread heavy
as lead within. He knew what the story would be. Apologies from his mum, silence from his dad.
Harry closed the front door behind him, kicked off his sneakers, and started for the staircase.
Perhaps he could just slip into his room unnoticed.

“Hey.” He was stopped by the sound of his father’s voice. He looked up, finding his dad leaning
against in doorway between the sitting room and kitchen. He looked sad, the lines on his face
clearer, his brows pulled down into his eyes.

“Hi,” replied Harry quietly. He wondered if he’d be yelled at for leaving, or if his mum was about
to jump out and start her usual dramatics.

His dad’s voice was nothing but calm, though. “Where did you go off to?”

“A friend’s.”

“Zayn?”

Sure. “Yeah.”

“That’s good. I’m happy you’ve got friends.”

About one.

Harry’s father looked down at the floor. “Your mother’s staying with her friend, too. Until
tomorrow, or the day after. Just so you know.”

Harry shrugged. “Sure… Goodnight, Dad.”

“Night, son.”

His father disappeared back into the kitchen, and Harry’s legs made their own way to his room and
turned him in under the covers of the bed.

On Monday, Harry drove to school with a weird feeling in his gut. He hadn’t needed to rush to get
out of the house before his parents appeared because his dad had already left for work and his mum
obviously wasn’t home. He’d managed to eat proper breakfast and actually get dressed in clothes
that weren’t training sweats and a hoodie. It was odd that his parents were worse than ever, yet he
suddenly felt like he had a chance to breathe. With them both gone he didn’t need to tiptoe around
the house. He didn’t like to be left alone, but it seemed to be a better alternative. It felt wrong, but
he was glad his mother wasn’t home. Yesterday’s events still scorched like a branding steer each
time he allowed his thoughts to venture there. He was lucky there were other fresh memories at
play.
Of Louis, naturally. When wasn’t he thinking about him?

Harry met Zayn outside the maths classroom. His friend was wearing black, skin-tight jeans as
usual, and a t-shirt with an action hero on. A flannel shirt hung from his shoulders, revealing the
figure on his shirt and the leather bracelets around his wrists. He pulled off the look effortlessly,
but Harry didn’t have to stare down at his own joggers and training jersey and feel entirely
inadequate for once. Today, he wore blue jeans and a white tee that didn’t have grass and dirt on it.

“Looking nice,” Zayn nodded once Harry reached him.

“Thanks.” He glanced down the hallway past his shoulder, keeping an eye out. He wasn’t sure if it
was for Jasmine or Louis. Either one. Or Louis. Hopefully. He kicked that thought away, like he
had all morning.

“What did you do yesterday?” Zayn’s question came as though by clockwork. Harry couldn’t help
it; he wanted to talk about Louis.

“I went to… his house. And we hung out.”

He arched a brow. “Hung out?”

“Had sex.” Harry looked down at the floor. “A lot.”

His friend was smiling. “Good, eh?”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Yes, the sex was… incredible. It was awesome as always, but
there had been many new elements that blew his mind. The shower sex was new, for instance. And
the slow sex on the bed, too. Oh, and the blow job. And Louis’ lips brushing over his…

He felt a nervous jump in his belly. “Is it weird that I’m always thinking about him?”

“He’s your guy,” shrugged Zayn. “Not weird.”

Harry glanced at where the nearest group of classmates were standing a few yards away, also
waiting to be let inside the room. “He’s not, though.” He frowned. “I don’t want him to be my guy.
We just sleep together.”

Zayn’s brown eyes were typically knowing. “Sure.”

“Stop it.” He shoved his friend in the arm, and the conversation was promptly terminated as the
teacher strode up and unlocked the door.

By the time school finished and it was time for football, Harry was battling the feeling of desire.
He hadn’t seen Louis yet and there was a sweet, syrupy, slimy pool of goo inside him that kept
reminiscing about strawberry shampoo, Louis’ tan skin on his, and the complete and utter
overpowering feeling of burying his face into that boy’s shoulder from behind. Was Louis thinking
about it, too? Did he want to come over later and do it all over again?

The first thing he noticed when he saw Louis was that his hair was styled. It was fixed upwards in
a quiff that seemed to accentuate every feature of his face; smooth forehead, nose sloped down in
an even stroke, brows rounded but drawn into angry lines, cheekbones sharp and cutting… He was
wearing a turtleneck under his training kit. Harry had never seen him in one, but a strictly objective
part of him was furiously questioning why Louis didn’t dress like this all the time.

“You.” Louis was talking to him. Harry had just reached the pitch along with Ed, Liam, and Oli, but
Louis’ eyes were set on him alone. Oli whistled pointedly and the three of them trudged off as
Louis advanced in quick strides towards Harry. His eyes were very blue, but they sparkled with red
fire. “Meeting now.”

He proceeded to yell at the boys to run laps for warm up, and then grabbed a steady hold of
Harry’s training jacket. Harry rolled eyes, but nonetheless very willingly allowed himself to be
towed off to the corner of the pitch — mostly because he was distracted by Louis’ face.

“What now?” he asked, but couldn’t steer his eyes from Louis’ cutting bone structure. He was
angry and his eyes were full of fight, but Harry couldn’t muster up any similar feeling. All he felt
was want.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” was Louis’ response. He hissed it out, like a snake. Then he aimed a
punch at Harry’s chest. Harry narrowly avoided the attack, unhappily recoiling. Louis wanted to hit
him? Harry just wanted to bury his face in Louis’ neck and start right back at where they’d left it
the day before.

Louis didn’t seem into that, though. He was pissed as usual. In front of Harry, he unzipped his own
jacket and tugged harshly at the collar of his turtleneck, huffing in a contemptuous manner that
distracted Harry from Louis’ face for a second long enough for him to understand the root of his
displeasure.

A small flash of surprise came over Harry as he saw what Louis was revealing, but it was
steadfastly buried by the warmest, sorest, most dreadful and wonderful feeling of yearning he had
ever felt. His hand reached out on its own accord, fingertips longing to touch the small marks of
purple and dark red stained into Louis’ skin. Right there… an inch below his jaw. His thumb
pressed carefully into the skin, the warmth of Louis’ blood ticking underneath in thrumming beats.

Louis slapped his hand and it fell away, down. “You’re such a dick,” he said, clearly full of
dismay. “Do you understand what a burden this has been all day? See, this is why we don’t do
that.”

“Do what?”

Louis hesitated, but then carried on. His eyes stared right into Harry’s. “Kiss and stuff. You can’t
be trusted! I should have realised the moment you started with that in the shower that you were
going to do something stupid. What if somebody sees it?”

Harry looked back at him, faintly miffed by Louis’ suggestion that their sex ever had anything to
do with something other than… just pure pleasure. He ignored that, and also the brief
acknowledgment of Louis talking about kissing. His brain logged in and over to automatics, mouth
sending out the regular remark that would naturally irk his fellow teammate.

“Maybe I wanted to mark you up?”

“Oh, okay! Hmm, I feel like I want to run you over with a car… so, should I just get on with it
then? Huh?” Louis looked like he was going to start elevating off the grass. “I was nice to you
yesterday, and yet you avenged me by printing your fucking teeth into my skin. You ungrateful
fuck, I swallowed for you!”

Once again, Harry ignored part of Louis’ speech and focused on the one thing he liked in it. “I
know,” he grinned, memories playing squash against his skull. “It was ridiculously hot.” His hand
couldn’t stay down it seemed, and it was reaching for Louis’ neck again.
But Louis took another step back, eyes aggressive as he looked from Harry’s hand to his face.
“You’re unbelievable.”

So are you.

Harry internally murdered that thought.

“What is unbelievable is how many times you’ve pulled me aside at footie to chew me out.” How
long had they been talking now? Ten minutes? Weren’t the lads getting bored of warming up by
now?

“If you didn’t constantly make me want to kill you, I wouldn’t have to.”

Harry smiled then, a thought occurring to him. Louis loved this. He loved talking, and he loved
yelling, and he loved to be right. He loved to tell Harry he was in the wrong. And Harry usually
hated that, but watching him argue with feisty eyes and sharp cheekbones and purple marks on his
skin was right then and there delicious. Harry was one of Pavlov’s dogs, salivating at the bite in
Louis’ words. Because it meant them on top of each other.

“I think you like it.”

“I do not — What the fuck are you doing?”

Harry didn’t know what he was doing, but it seemed he’d forgotten they were in public. His hand
was plastered against the small of Louis’ back, his lower stomach flush against his. The only
problems were the clothes in between them.

It lasted for a moment until Louis pushed him in the chest and retreated. He clearly hadn’t
forgotten about the school, the football team, and the general environment.

“Harry!”

Harry’s brain couldn’t switch on. “You look so hot in that shirt… Your cheekbones… When you
speak it almost looks like when you sucked me off.” He wanted to be closer, so his legs moved
closer. Louis’ hand flattened against his stomach, keeping him at a distance. It was both pleasure
and pain.

“Do you want to get caught, or something? Do you have a death wish? Because if you expose us, I
will make sure you’re in your grave before you’re nineteen.”

“How many times have you promised to be the one to end my days? I think I’d rather die in —”

“Hi, Louis!”

Cold. Suddenly the freezing weather of December came back with a vengeance. None of the
pleasurable slime within Harry could be felt, only frozen arrows and spikes. Louis turned just like
Harry, heads twisting to look at Jasmine who stood only a few paces away.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, and his name sounded vile on her tongue. “I didn’t know you two were
friends.” Her eyes were calculative, and Harry’s insides felt only volatile things.

The hand — Louis’ hand — that had been flat against Harry’s lower stomach was snatched away.
Louis’ voice said, “We’re not.”

Harry couldn’t help it. Before she allowed herself to speak more, he spat out, “Why don’t you fuck
off, Jasmine.”

Her painted brows rose, and her arms crossed over her thick winter coat. “Wow, friendly.”

It was almost funny the way she played it off like she expected anything else. “You don’t deserve
friendly. You’re a horrible person.”

“Harry!”

He glanced away from Jasmine’s sour face, only to see Louis’ eyes filled with horror. He looked
genuinely surprised, but it was smoothed over with odd niceties directed at Jasmine. “Anyway…
What are you doing here?”

Harry didn’t wonder about that. He knew exactly.

“I saw you over here, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” There was now a sweet, sultry smile on
her face. She was flirting. How many times hadn’t Harry seen it directed at himself before they
became a couple? Once he’d thought it was sweet, but now he knew there was only poison there.

“Oh.” Louis smiled.

Smiled. And when Louis Tomlinson smiled with effort and deliverance it was always charming and
beautiful. And it felt… like Harry was going to die. It wasn’t… right. It was sickening.

“Well, he doesn’t have time to talk.” He grabbed a forceful hold of Louis’ jacket. “We’ve got
practice.”

Get him away. Away from her and her snake-like eyes and words.

But Louis pushed his hand off him. “Rude.”

Louis talking about manners? Please.

Harry fixed his eyes upon him. “She doesn’t deserve more than.” He wished he could say more,
wished he could tell Louis what a person she was behind that mask of cotton candy she so eagerly
wanted Louis to bite into.

“You shouldn’t talk to me that way.” Her voice was flat and stony, and Harry almost regretted his
words when she continued, “You should know better, Harry.”

Nausea, fear, and anger mixed into one as he hitched out, “You’re literally the scum of earth.”

He couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t. He walked off, even if it meant leaving football practice and
Louis in Jasmine’s claws. He didn’t even make it five steps before he felt Louis take grab his
jacket, to stop him. But even though it was Louis who was holding on to him, Harry couldn’t bear
it, not for one second more. If he did, he was actually going to die. So, he instinctively flipped
around and his hands connected with Louis’ chest, sending him back into an easy fall.

Louis was up from the ground within a moment, furious. “What is your problem?!” he yelled.

Harry flipped him off and jogged away to the locker room where Jasmine couldn’t reach him.
Thankfully, it was empty inside, and he slumped down on the nearest bench. His legs jumped and
his hands shook. In a surge of pure electricity, he grabbed a water bottle that stood on the bench
and tossed it across the room. It splattered, the top coming off and water sliding out like blood on
the floor in the corner. He watched it, but his mind wondered whether Louis was still out there
talking to Jasmine. Was he consoling her? Was he smiling at her in that way?

Hearing Louis defending her was terribly unsettling. The first part of it was stupid. Louis was
sleeping with Harry, and in a normal world he would be defending him. But that was superficial
and Harry preferred not to think about that.

The second part of it was that Louis didn’t know why Harry and Jasmine weren’t friends anymore.
It was because Harry was gay, and Jasmine wanted nothing more than to use it against him. Harry
didn’t pretend he knew whether Louis considered himself gay, but he doubted very much Louis
would delight in being friends with someone who thought holding someone’s sexuality against
them was fun when he clearly wasn’t straight. If Jasmine would do this to her best friend, the same
person whom she’d supposedly been in love with, then why couldn’t she just as easily do it to
Louis? Moreover, Harry didn’t wish the feeling he’d felt over the last few months on anyone. Not
even his worst friend.

Finally, the third part of his anguish was this: he had hated Louis for as long as he could remember.
They’d fought, verbally and physically, taunted each other, and wished death upon one another at
times. Jasmine had been Harry’s best friend and sort-of-girlfriend. Yet, he trusted Louis Tomlinson
more than he would ever trust Jasmine again.

It later occurred to him how foolish and stupid he’d been out there on the football pitch. They had
been out in the open, for anyone including Jasmine to see, and yet Harry had touched Louis in very
non-platonic ways. Why had he done that? Louis wondered that same thing, and at the time all he’d
been able to think about was the pleasure he got to feel each time he touched Louis. Nevertheless,
it had been impulsive and stupid. Somehow, though, Louis simply seemed to drench any fear
within him.

Louis had no desire of showcasing any of their so-called relationship to the public. Neither did
Harry. So, it’d been wrong to put Louis on the spot like that, out in the open. Louis liked fucking in
the Rover, his room, and perhaps dry-humping against lockers where no one could see, and that
was absolutely perfect. Harry didn’t need anything other than that from him. But… it was just that
it seemed like Harry also needed Louis, in order to feel better. The problem was that Louis
probably hated him again now, whatever that meant in relation to his previous feelings towards
him.

No need to explain how much he regretted knocking him down.

Coach was upset about Harry leaving in the middle of practice, but it was nothing in comparison to
his fury when Louis didn’t even show up the following day. Harry received a text message from
Louis that morning, telling him that he wasn’t intending to show. Harry replied with simple
question marks because it was truly setting a precedent. Louis didn’t deem it worthy of a response.

“What is going on with you boys lately?” asked Coach Abrahams during practice, when the team
was practicing zone defence during corners. He’d calmed down from his five minutes of swearing
when the boys made it clear that Louis hadn’t even turned up to school that day.

Of course, it concerned Harry. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wondered if there was a chance
that his own behaviour the day before was the reason. Part of him felt it was unlikely — he’d
fought with Louis so many times he couldn’t count them, and it hadn’t ever resulted in Louis
missing football. Rather the opposite, with Louis becoming a satanic dictator the next practice in
order to punish him. Harry supposed it was the guilt that was tripping him up. He felt remorse for
going ballistic, and frankly, it embarrassed him to be so easily triggered by Jasmine. She was
winning, and by a landslide. He had to be stronger.

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking over at where Coach was crossing his arms, eyes firm
under the edge of his red cap. The wind tugged at all of their clothes, and knowing December in
England it would be raining soon. Harry was grateful for his thick training jacket and the long
johns beneath his football shorts.

Coach’s arms fell open. “I thought you two were getting better! It looked like it. Louis even passes
you the ball sometimes. But now I’ve had you pissing off in a rage yesterday, and Tommo’s not
even showed up for the first time in his life!”

Harry shrugged. “What can I say? He’s unreasonable.”

He squinted at him. “Don’t you care, Harry?”

“Why would I care about him?”

“About the team then.”

“I do care about the team!” His voice was higher than expected, and he felt some of his teammates’
glances at him. He stepped aside, a few yards off from where the boys were going through the
drills. He drew a breath, crossing his arms in front of Coach Abrahams. “I care. I’ve been planning
these trainings for half the year now. Even when Tomlinson is trying to undermine me during my
own practices, I’m doing everything I can to help. It’s not my fault that he is unable to co-operate.”

“I know you are trying, and so is he. But you are trying separately. If we’re meant to win the
championship next term you need to work together.”

Harry shook his head. It was most of the time easy to convince Louis to do what he wanted when it
came to sex. When it came to football it was as if talking to a wall.

“Tell it to him,” he said.

“I have, plenty.”

“Then maybe he is the issue.”

Coach wasn’t having that. “Styles. Once you realise that it’s both of you that need to improve, we
will be greatly ahead of where we are now.”

Harry stared at the rest of the team where they were all huddled around one of the goals. Ed made
a corner kick and Liam easily shot up from the ground and caught the ball in the air before Jonah
could reach it with his forehead. Easy. They tossed the ball back to Ed for another try.

“Fine,” Harry muttered. “I will try to improve.” Even though the problem was clearly Louis.

Coach Abrahams seemed happy with that response and let him get back to training. Although his
head was elsewhere, his body knew exactly what to do out there on the pitch. Everything was easy.
His feet knew how to magically move the ball from left to right without a hint of hesitation, and his
eyes saw clearly and precisely the pitch as though through an x-ray. It was so simple, but somehow
it felt wrong. Louis wasn’t screaming at him and wasn’t complaining about his actions. Maybe the
rest of the team felt it, too. Harry would have thought it’d be nice not to have to deal with him, but
it just felt odd.

Thankfully, Louis did turn up Friday morning for the next practice. He didn’t look an inch in
Harry’s direction but at least Harry could see that there was nothing terribly wrong with him. He
kind of wondered where he’d been the day before, but it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t ever skipped
school just to stay in bed. Louis didn’t tell, and Harry didn’t ask. They didn’t talk.

The whole weekend passed, and all of a sudden there was only a week left of school before the
winter holidays. Louis didn’t contact him during those days, and Harry didn’t try to speak to him,
either. His mother returned home on the Friday prior, but he hardly spoke to her, hiding out in his
room for the most part. He wasn’t ready to speak to her yet, and she went to lunches and dinners,
meanwhile, he spent the whole of his Sunday at Zayn’s house, grateful for his friendly parents and
sisters. On Monday, he still felt full from the large feast of a dinner they’d had the night before,
prepared by the Malik family, and Zayn seemed to feel the same from the way he met Harry’s eyes
during lunch, only an apple in hand.

He saw Louis around, of course, both in classes and at football. Memories of the last time at Louis’
house danced around in his mind as if on crack, but as the week passed, they slowly faded out and
were replaced by pure guilt and dread. Once again, Louis was entirely unimpressed by Harry’s
erratic behaviour and physical assault. Moreover, even though Jasmine refrained from texting him,
she still seemed to lurk around every corner at school. It was the last week before Christmas break,
though, and it wasn’t long until Harry didn’t have to worry about seeing her every day at school.
While that was a shitload off his shoulders, it still meant about two weeks at home. He hoped
sincerely his parents would be needed at work for most of it.

By the time the last day of school was over, it had been almost two weeks since Harry was at
Louis’ house, and since they’d slept with each other, or even touched one another. It wasn’t that
Harry perpetually thought about sex; it was that he perpetually thought about Louis. This whole
autumn term he had been thinking about him, in one way or another. The guilt was there, the regret
lingering from Wednesday’s fight, but he was sure that if Louis would text him, or they’d talk, then
he could squash those feelings with new and pure ones. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to reach
out. It would be too pathetic. And what if Louis shut him down? He’d asked Louis to be there for
him once already, but Louis hadn’t asked to see him in weeks.

Friday night, Harry’s parents were gone from the house. There was a note on the fridge that stated
they’d headed out for dinner. Harry was at once grateful. He hadn’t actually spoken much to his
mother since that Sunday morning, and he wasn’t eager to, either. Of course, it stung that they
hadn’t waited for him to get back from school before they were out of town, but the end result was
relief. He ended up on the sofa, ate leftover spaghetti from Tupperware, and watched people from
school who generally seemed to have more fun than him through the screen of social media. Liam
had posted a video from his house, where he and his girlfriend, Sophia, seemed to be hanging out.
To be fair, Harry could probably very easily have headed on over and been welcomed with open
arms, but something stopped him.

Despite being lonely, he didn’t feel in the mood. What would he even do there? Talk about girls
and drink? He didn’t want to drink, and he didn’t want to talk about girls. It was Louis he wanted to
talk to, and it didn’t look like Louis was over at Liam’s house anyway. Harry scoured the posts and
videos he could see from the people who appeared to be there, but he couldn’t spot a mention of
the guy he wanted to see most. What would Louis Tomlinson be doing on a Friday night? Movie
night with his large family? Was he in bed, tucked under the fluffy duvet in his bed, watching
Grease on DVD? Or maybe he was with other friends. Perhaps the blond guy he was always with
— Niall — having fun and probably not thinking about Harry.

God, what wouldn’t Harry do to be able to slip in under Louis’ duvet and stay there? For a couple
of hours? For the night?
He stared up at the ceiling from the sofa, imagining cold shadows and thinking about ghosts hiding
‘round the house. But what was Louis doing? What did he do when everything sucked? Did things
suck for him? Or was everything sunshine, rainbows, and footballs every day for him? Well,
something had to have been wrong that day he didn’t show up at practice. No one lived a perfect
life. Not even football could have been perfect for Louis anymore — Harry was his co-captain, for
God’s sake.

Thinking about football got Harry to his feet. If there was one thing other than Louis Tomlinson
that could get his mind to turn off all the things he didn’t want to think of, it would be football.
Maybe it was the same for Louis? Maybe he spent his Friday nights trying not to think about
things, too. Maybe… just maybe, he was at the football pitch.

Eager to get out of the house, Harry jumped into a pair of sneakers and pulled a beanie down his
hair and a jacket over his hoodie. Outside it was dark, only street lights painting circles of yellow
along the pavement, and the cold cut in through his jeans as he made his way towards school.
There had been no snow yet this winter, but it felt like the rain might crystalise any day now. He
wished he wore gloves.

The school parking lot was empty, and he crossed it silently. The darkness felt a little bit eerie, but
he could see the open area of the football pitch not far away, the green a bit brighter and seemingly
kinder. As he approached, he could soon hear a rhythmic thud. Thud… thud, thud, thud… thud.

He rounded the bleachers and almost smiled at the sight. Louis Tomlinson was right there. How
could Harry have guessed so correctly? He knew that football was basically the core of Louis’ life,
but on a Friday night? Perhaps Louis felt just as messed up as Harry did sometimes. Maybe he
needed the quiet, serenity of football to envelope and shelter him.

Louis was bouncing a football on his toes and knees. He was smooth, did it with ease, and the
practice of someone who’d done it a million times. He was in a blue beanie, his caramel brown
fringe sticking out and poking into his eyes here and there. He was dressed in a thick jumper and
tracks, looking like he would any other day at football practice. Perhaps he wasn’t there to clear his
head, only to practice? He was after all obsessed with it.

“What are you doing?” asked Harry over the paces of cold grass, announcing his presence. Louis
was instantly startled, indubitably taken aback by hearing someone talk while he probably believed
he was all alone out there in the dark. The ball hit the ground and rolled away. When Louis looked
up and found Harry standing there, he sighed but didn’t look entirely surprised. Harry didn’t know
what that meant.

“What does it look like, Harold,” was Louis’ reply, coming out like a huff, and Harry studiously
noted the nickname. Louis had never called him that before. He hoped that it meant Louis wasn’t
all too angry with him still.

He moved closer as he spoke. “I don’t know. You look rather lonely, though.”

“And that comes from the bloke strolling about the school on a Friday night.”

“I was on a walk. Clearing my head.” Well, sort of. He wouldn’t admit he was actively looking for
Louis.

“Didn’t know you had much in there.”

Harry reached the football that had rolled away from Louis. “You can’t keep a conversation up for
even one minute without insulting people, can you?” He began bouncing the ball on his toes,
keeping it in the air for a few moments.

“It’s hard,” said Louis, and his voice sounded tense. Harry didn’t look away from the ball, “to be
nice to you when all the things you’ve done recently is ignore me and attack me out of nowhere.”

Louis was right, of course. Harry didn’t want to talk about that; he wanted to replace that day’s
memories with new ones. He felt the guilt flare up inside again, but he kept on juggling the
football, eyes deliberately kept from Louis’. The ball bounced one, two, three, times before
suddenly Harry noticed in his periphery as Louis approached. With vigour, he landed a violent kick
at the ball, sending it flying from Harry’s feet and into the darkness on the other side of the pitch.
Harry jerked back, taken by complete surprise at Louis’ sudden outburst.

“You almost strangled me last week because I talked to that girl!” he yelled.

“I didn’t strangle you,” he defended hotly, but he knew it was a lie. He hated when Louis yelled at
him, but it was impossible not to retaliate in the same manner. “I didn’t attack you on Wednesday.”
Lie again. “I was pissed off.” Not a lie. And now that he wasn’t lying, he couldn’t help but spill out
the rest of the truth that had been biting at his insides for the last week. “Don’t you get that she’s
only around when I am? She says hi to you when I’m there! She spoke to you on Wednesday
because I was there!”

Louis stopped and stared at him, face full of open confusion. “Wait, when did she say hi to me?
What the hell are you on about?”

“In the hallway?” he frowned. “You were on the phone? Being all squirmy and flirty talking to that
guy, after you returned the shirt to me.” That fucking Greg guy. Who the fuck was he anyway?

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“I don’t care,” he gritted out. What was important was Jasmine and the fact that she was obviously
using Louis. It wasn’t all too farfetched to believe that the guy Harry was sleeping with might get
in the middle of her homophobic drama. “Listen,” he said to him. “She’s only doing it because she
has an agenda. She’s not nice to you. She’s trying to get to me.”

Louis peered at him. For a second, he was simply silent, but his blue eyes contained only doubt and
incredulousness as he spoke. “Are you jealous?”

Jesus Christ. How conceited was this guy? Everything wasn’t always about him. All right, well,
Harry did concern himself with Louis a great deal, but not at this very minute. Plus, Harry naturally
knew that Louis was only interested in his own business most of the time, but goodness, couldn’t
he tell that Harry was trying to convey an important message here?

He tried to invoke a solemn and sombre tone in his voice to make him understand. “No, I’m not.
Believe it or not, I’m actually looking out for you.”

A brow rose on Louis’ face. “What?”

Harry’s body tightened with frustration. He had no desire whatsoever to go into specific details
about Jasmine, but Louis was clearly not able to be convinced. Their relationship may have
changed considerably since they first met, but they were nowhere near something as critical as
trust.

He sighed. What else could he say? “She’s… Jasmine’s not nice, okay?”

Louis seemed a little uncomfortable, and he scratched at the hair at the nape of his neck as he
glanced away from Harry’s intense eyes. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but she
seems pretty nice to me.”

Goddammit. Harry felt weirdly desperate to make him get it, and he hated that feeling with extreme
ferocity.

“She’s not, Louis. I’m telling you. You may hate me, but I’ve never lied to you.” Well. “If it
wasn’t a prank, or to humiliate you.” Louis’ eyes formed into slits of distaste. “But I’m telling you
the truth, Louis. Don’t befriend her. She’s a disgusting human being. I’m not gonna’ tell you why,
because we’re not mates and I don’t owe you anything, but don’t trust her.”

In the midst of his passionate speech, he’d walked towards Louis, and his landed heavily on his
shoulders. Please. Just understand the severity of it all, he thought. Please.

Louis leaned away, shaking his head. “This is so weird.” Harry had a short moment to feel the
disappointment of failure before Louis was speaking again. His hands were thrown out
exasperatedly and he spun around, sudden ferociousness in his eyes. “You are so fucking
complicated, you know that? You’re fucking weird, and secretive, and you have anger issues, and
you’re so terribly annoying —”

“Are you going somewhere with this?” Harry knew all of those things to be true, but he didn’t like
hearing Louis insult him for whatever reason.

“— and you make me crazy on a daily basis, and I don’t get why I’m listening to you right now.”
He turned around again. His face was full of confusion and annoyance, but his eyes appeared to be
searching through Harry’s own as if he was actually trying to understand. “Why should I trust you?
Didn’t you date her, or something?”

Harry felt his stomach sink, chest falling heavily as he gazed back into Louis’ blue eyes. “That’s
exactly why you should.”

He shook his head, ran a hand over his face, muttered “this is ridiculous,” and promptly sank to the
grass where he lay down and covered his face with his arms.

Harry watched him in silence, seeing his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. He didn’t
know if Louis would be taking his advice or not, but the discussion was clearly over. And in the
midst of all that was said, Harry certainly had not missed the fact that Louis felt like Harry made
him crazy. Every day. That had to be… a good thing. Right? At least it meant that while Harry was
thinking about Louis, Louis was thinking about him.

He slowly sat down on the grass, by the other boy’s side. They remained quiet for another few
minutes, and Harry thought perhaps Louis was trying to process the conversation. He didn’t move
away when Harry settled next to him, so he took it as a sign that Louis wasn’t going to run away.
After another minute, Louis removed his arms from his face and sat up, staring at the ground in
front of them. He didn’t leave.

Harry smiled at his sneakers, where they were crossed in front of him. “You’d think I’d be dead by
now, counting how many times you’ve threatened to murder me. I don’t think I’ve threatened to do
that to you. Yet.”

“You might,” huffed Louis.

“Maybe.”

“I should probably kill you first, shouldn’t I, before you bury me somewhere,” he grimaced. He
didn’t look happy about that. “Could probably run you over with the car, or stab you in the back
when you’re not looking. Or shoot you.”

“Where would you get the gun, though?”

“Good point, Styles.” He looked up, and for the first time that evening, when he met Harry’s eyes
there was no wariness on his face. He seemed calmer as he watched Harry back. “What should I do
then?”

“Push me in front of a train?”

“Hmm, no. You’d probably just survive it. Resurrect again, right, like an annoying fucking ghost,
haunting me forever. You’d pull a Charlie Sheen, wouldn’t you?”

Harry arched a brow, surprised that he knew what Louis was referencing. “Anger Management?”

“Is what you need.” His voice was solemn again, and Harry looked down at his feet once more.
“You’ve seriously got some issues, mate. You attacked me twice this last week.”

Didn’t Harry know it? He hated thinking about it. He had issues, all right, but he couldn’t talk
about them openly. If not with Zayn, then definitely not with Louis. He swallowed. He wanted to
go back three seconds, to when they had actually talked without fighting. It’d been a brief, odd
relief. He leaned back on his elbows, but continued staring at his sneakers.

“Fine!” said Louis suddenly, voice loud and surprising Harry completely. “You win! I won’t
befriend her, but if you ever push me again because you think I’m getting it on with your ex, I will
mutilate you, you weirdo.”

Despite the insult, Harry couldn’t stop the grin that erupted on his face. It was a different take on
it, he supposed, but he was nonetheless grateful. And utterly surprised. Louis was listening to him.
For once.

“Two and a half limbs would be what was left of you,” added Louis, and Harry laughed without
even thinking about it. Another reference, to the same thing, of course, but still. It kind of shocked
him that he was picking up what Louis was putting down, but he couldn’t deny that he liked it.
Furthermore, he felt Louis’ eyes on his face as he laughed, and he wondered whether it was wrong
to. They had never laughed together before.

“Okay,” he said after a moment where didn’t Louis provide anything further. He felt warmer,
thankful that Louis had agreed not to befriend Jasmine. “As long as you promise not to engage with
her.”

“Fine,” muttered Louis. “Whatever.”

Whatever. That was good enough. Great, even. Perfect. Harry grinned at the ground, but noticed in
the corner of his eye how Louis reached for something in the pocket of his jacket. A packet of
cigarettes. Harry watched in disbelief as Louis put one between his lips and lit it with a lighter.

“What — ugh! What are you doing?” What in the world? Did this guy not want to be a
professional athlete, or was Harry completely and altogether wrong about him?

“What does it look like?” mumbled Louis, putting the pack back into his pocket.

“Smoking?” asked Harry, filled with disbelief and disgust. “Really?!”

“I don’t do it all the time, okay.”

“That’s a foul habit.”

Louis squinted at him, taking a drag. “What do you care?”

Well. It was just… odd. Shocking, actually. What else didn’t Harry know about Louis? Clearly,
there were things he had no clue about. He watched him smoke in silence, noting how his eyes
remained on the sky above. Harry shook his head, though, not liking it a bit. He had never smelled
cigarette smoke on him before? And he knew the smell well because Zayn did it plenty. Harry
didn’t like to judge, but Louis was supposedly obsessed with health and fitness.

He watched him, and the guy leered back at him for a second. He exhaled smoke right in Harry’s
face.

“Ugh,” he complained, moving his head away. “Dick.” The smell was toxic, and Harry wondered
why he hadn’t noticed that Louis smoked before. He watched him stub the cigarette, a stupid grin
playing on his lips, probably at Harry’s surprise and dissatisfaction. Maybe Louis didn’t do it often,
he considered. They had never actually kissed, so perhaps Harry hadn’t been able to notice because
he’d never actually felt his mouth on his. “As if I’d kiss you now,” he muttered, frowning at the
cigarette now tucked in between straws of grass on the ground. He thought Louis should have more
respect for the pitch. Freaking blasphemy, this.

He didn’t even realise that what he’d said was noteworthy until he found Louis’ eyes staring back
into his own, locked hard. Harry watched back, carefully observing how Louis’ brow arched
upward in a slowly turning mischievous expression.

“No, no, no,” he began to say, swiftly trying to get up from the ground. But Louis was fast, and he
quickly jumped the space between them, legs suddenly straddling Harry and hands pushing down
at his arms. And… Harry knew that Louis loved to be mean, but he’d never teased him like this, in
a well-tempered, fun way. Louis was smiling, eyes full of mischief and mirth, and it was that smile,
but so much more. There was something… amorous in it. Perhaps it was because he was straddling
Harry and that they’d just spoken of kissing. Maybe it was just a joke, but… Louis was leaning
down.

“Don’t do it,” he protested, angling his face away. Louis’ knees tightened against his sides,
keeping him down on the ground. “Louis —”

Louis grinned, victorious. “What are you going to do about it?”

“This is rape!”

Louis looked at him, disappointed he’d gone there. “It’s not. Don’t you want to feel my smoky lips
against yours? Taste my mouth?”

His face was close. His nose brushed lightly against Harry’s. It was brief and soft, and Harry
realised that he hadn’t considered this enough over the last couple of months. There had only been
one moment before when he’d wanted Louis to press his mouth to his… That last Sunday, when
his lips had accidentally slid right over his. Back then he hadn’t smelled like smoke.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like to kiss me, sugar?”

“Ugh, sleazy,” he complained, glaring up at Louis, who was now further from his face again. Louis
just thought it was fun to tease, and Harry didn’t want Louis to think he’d pondered this before.
“And if I have, it’s because I seriously wondered if you took people’s souls with them when your
mouth left theirs.”

Louis instantly leaned down once more, and Harry’s heart began beating in heavy pounds again.
His nose slid gently against Harry’s jawline this time, down over his neck in a slow fashion. “You
want to try the death kiss?” he whispered, and Harry nearly had a stroke right there.

Yes? Maybe? his mind tentatively suggested. Yes, his body said. Yes, please.

“Dementor’s kiss,” he clarified. “You’re a dementor.”

“Harry Potter fan?” His teeth touched Harry’s neck. Harry squirmed away, feeling the warmth
rising in his bones, in his stomach.

“Who isn’t?”

“I’ve not read the books.” Louis leaned away, and Harry honestly didn’t know if he was happy
with that revelation or not.

He turned his head back to face Louis, only an inch or so between their noses. The grass was cool
against Harry’s neck, but Louis’ body was warm on top of him. He deliberately sent a breath of
cool air against Louis’ face, but the boy didn’t move.

“Ew.”

“Let me go,” he replied calmly. Then he lifted his arms upwards in the hope of freeing himself, but
all Louis did was push them down. Like Harry had discovered some time ago, Louis was much
stronger than he looked. He was muscled, and warm, and could easily hold Harry down for
minutes. Harry wasn’t even sure he wanted to be free at this point.

“No,” replied Louis easily.

“Don’t kiss me. Louis. I’m serious.” Was he?

Louis leaned in again. Harry kicked his legs. “Would you be still?”

“No —”

His fingers clenched Harry’s chin between them, holding his face impossibly still. Harry watched
Louis gaze right back, eyes glistening in blue, a couple of rare freckles on his cheeks, fringe gentle
and soft atop his brows. Louis’ eyes went to Harry’s lips. They stayed there, and Harry was so
intent on regarding Louis contemplating whether or not to kiss him that it took him a while before
he realised that his one hand was free. Because Louis was now holding his chin, meanwhile, his
breathing was faster against Harry’s mouth. His fringe touched the little spot between Harry’s
eyebrows.

He shoved Louis in the side harshly, making him fall off and land on the ground by his side.

“Jesus,” huffed Louis, as if Harry’s actions were uncalled for.

Harry stayed on his back on the ground, his heart thrumming painfully and nervously against his
ribs. He glanced at Louis, pulse still making him breathless. “Were you really going to kiss me?”
he whispered.

“No,” he said quickly. “I’ve told you. There are reasons we don’t do that, moron.”

“You’ve never told me any reasons why.”

Louis made a sound that very much suggested he disagreed. He leaned up and dragged down the
collar of his shirt like he had done last week. To Harry’s surprise, the love bites were there, if
faded and almost gone. Still. They were there. And Harry’s head flowered with images from that
shower just like last time.

“This is proof enough. You can’t be trusted.”

Harry watched, stomach turning into slime and maple syrup. His hand reached for Louis’ neck.

“Uh-uh,” he refused, retreating. “What makes you think you get to touch?”

“They’re mine,” he mumbled. Louis’ neck was vaguely tan, and how was that? It was winter.
There was a vein right beneath one of the barely noticeable marks. If Harry placed his tongue on it,
he’d be able to feel the slow pump of blood beneath. He would be able to smell Louis’ beautiful,
earthy scent, which normally smelled nothing like cigarette smoke. “I made them.”

“What do you mean ‘yours’? You’re ridiculous.” He shook his head and zipped up the jacket,
covering his neck and leaving Harry utterly and completely wanting. Louis stood, and Harry
followed. “Now, if you don’t terribly mind, Styles, I’m going home.” He began towards the edge
of the football pitch, and Harry followed until Louis stopped and turned around. “Hold on,” he
said, arms crossed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Harry shrugged. “Walking home.” Perhaps home to Louis.

“No, you’re not. Fetch my ball.”

He raised a brow in disbelief. He glanced at the dark behind him and back. “There is no way I’ll
find it, and also, you’re the one who kicked it away.”

“I think you’ll find it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if you do, and manage to catch up to me before our paths home go separate ways, I’ll let
you suck another love bite into my neck.”

That… sounded dumb as hell. But Harry clearly had issues, because the thought of burying his face
in Louis’ neck seemed all too appealing. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted for the last week? Louis
was giving him a chance.

“Fine,” he agreed. He saw the instant smirk on the guy’s stupid face, and realised immediately that
Louis couldn’t be allowed that sense of pleasure he would clearly pride himself on later. Harry held
up a finger, “But if I do, I get ten minutes to do what I want to your neck.”

“Ew, you’re such a pervert.”

“Ten minutes.”

Louis squinted. “Two.”

What was two minutes? Nothing. “Seven.”

“Five.”

Better than nothing. “Deal,” agreed Harry, and shook Louis’ hand as they both stared at one
another with caution. Harry began to backtrack towards the dark pitch, and Louis moved in the
direction of the parking lot.

“Better start.” Louis clearly thought he was winning easily, because his face was just a victorious
smirk before he took off running in the night. Harry watched his back for a short moment before he
turned over and headed to the other side of the pitch. Louis was rather fast, but Harry wasn’t slow,
either. If he’d just find the ball quick enough, he knew he could catch up.

It was very dark in the corner of the pitch, and Harry didn’t particularly like it, but he made his
way forward, eyes searching along the edges of the field. On this side of the pitch, there were no
bleachers, only a fence following the outskirts of the school grounds. On the other side were trees
and a mostly abandoned cycling road without streetlamps that looked awfully creepy at night.
Thankfully, it didn’t take long until Harry could see something on the grass. Resting against the
lonely corner flag on the far end of the pitch was Louis’ football. Harry snatched it up quickly, part
of him eager simply to elude the dark, but another part — a hopeful, wanting, interested part —
couldn’t get out of there fast enough only to be with Louis again.

But Louis was nowhere to be seen, naturally. He was a winner, and Harry knew that even if a tiny
part of him wanted to lose just to… maybe be with Harry a little longer, then he certainly wasn’t
going to give in to that desire. Louis Tomlinson always planned for victory. Harry wanted to win,
too. And he knew a shortcut.

Keeping the football tucked closely under his armpit, Harry cut left outside the parking lot of the
school. Normally one might give in to the desire of heading strictly towards the blocks of
townhouses, where the streetlights would light up the pavement. Harry wasn’t scared of the dark,
but he wasn’t fond of it, either. However, if one was willing to surrender the comfort of the light,
there was a small walking path between the blocks that would lead to Harry’s block. If he ran that
way, he’d simply need to cut from the path and back to the main streets a block or so before hitting
the road that would eventually lead to Louis’ house. Harry didn’t usually walk that way, since it
tended to get muddy when it rained, but he was more than willing to make that sacrifice this time.
Moreover, he knew the prize of winning wasn’t only getting to be close to Louis again, but it would
allow him a win. He was tired of always losing.

Harry ran fast. He figured the run would take about nine minutes at a normal jogging pace, but
tonight, it took him six to hit the spot in the dark where he could turn back onto the open street. As
he rounded the corner, he almost held his breath hoping he would see Louis on the pavement in
front of him. He felt a blow of disappointment at first, noting an entirely empty street, but he kept
going, pushing himself harder. It was about twenty seconds later that he caught glimpse of
something blue bopping along somewhere down the pavement — Louis’ beanie. Harry pressed
forward, urgently. If he caught up with him before the intersection, he’d win. Louis hadn’t even
noticed him yet, seemingly not even hurried as he ran at an even, practiced pace.

It took another few moments, but then Louis turned his head. Harry was about thirty yards behind
him, and Louis appeared to almost stumble as he made the realisation. Louis went into sprint
mode, but Harry was already in it, full of momentum. His heart was thrumming heavily against his
chest, and his breathing was getting rougher and rougher, but he continued to press, and to his thrill
seemed to be getting closer and closer. Louis turned back once more as they ran, and Harry wanted
to laugh; Louis’ eyes were full of panic, and his hair stood out on the sides under the beanie, like
he’d been repeatedly running his warm hands through it to comb away sweat. Harry used the
moment close more of the space between them.

“Stop!” yelled Louis, clearly frightened of losing.

“Are you scared?” he called back, making further progress. He was only a couple of yards behind.
They both kept their eyes on the spot where the street would split in two. Not far off now. Harry
forced his legs to keep at it, eyes moving to Louis’ blue beanie and staying there in total focus.
There was only a yard or so left when he reached out towards Louis’ back, his hand barely
brushing against his moving shirt. His legs burned, but he could make it, even if barely.

Harry reached him just in time. The last yard disappeared into nothingness as Harry stared at Louis’
head, and he just about noticed it when he tumbled straight into Louis’ body. They fell hard,
quickly and roughly to the right, landing on the grass of someone’s front yard. Harry’s lungs
heaved, eyes seeing only the darkness above them. There were no stars, but he felt a bright ringing
in his ear. Louis’ body was somewhere tucked close to him, but he could only think of one thing.
He won.

“I fucking did it,” he laughed, but felt Louis’ hand slap painfully on his own. He glanced over and
found Louis Tomlinson heaving breathlessly. “Oh, shit.”

His blue eyes looked slightly panicked, and it was a different kind of panic than Harry had ever
seen in them. It wasn’t horror at the thought of losing something, but a sheer kind of human fear.
He had trouble breathing, and Harry quickly grabbed hold of his arms and directed them above his
head.

“Breathe. Slowly,” he instructed. Louis’ eyes were now closed, and Harry felt grateful for it. He
didn’t like the look he’d just witnessed. It’d been uncomfortably real.

He kept Louis’ hands up and watched closely as he began to slowly breathe normally again. Louis
sat, still and quiet, for a long moment until he finally opened his eyes. They were now calm, but a
little bit spicy as usual.

“You okay?” asked Harry.

“You fucking dick,” murmured Louis in reply. Harry grinned; he was just fine.

“I won,” he said, victoriously awaiting his reaction.

“You’re insane.” He dragged his arms down and Harry let go. Louis’ hands instantly reached for
the football and tossed it at Harry, but the movement was slow and Harry easily caught the ball
aimed at him.

“I still won.”

Louis grunted, “I am smaller than you. Do you have no sense? I could have died.”

He was deferring the subject. “You’re just fine,” said Harry. Louis huffed loudly, and began to rise
from the grass. Harry followed, smiling winningly as they came face to face where they stood.
Louis looked severely disgruntled and Harry absolutely loved it.

“I won,” he repeated, trying to steer them back to the important subject.

“Fine,” barked Louis, hands thrown out at his sides. “So, what? Are you just going to get off
against me now? Or?”

Harry watched him for a second, contemplating. They were in the middle of the street, of course,
and anyone could see them. A bed — Louis’ — would be preferred, and, truthfully, he wanted
them to get off together.

“I might save it,” he finally said.

“What?” yapped Louis, perpetually opposed. “You can’t save it. You get now, or never.”

“Those weren’t the rules. You said five minutes, but not where or when.”

“You think I’m just going to let you molest my neck anywhere you want? Do you have a surprise
kink, too?

“Too?”

“Well, obviously you have some sort of thing for my neck, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

Louis needed to stop talking. Harry took a few steps closer until they were inches from each other.
Louis poised his chin up, refusing to back down, and Harry knew that Louis could talk the talk, but
once his body was right up against Harry’s he had never disappointed.

Harry placed his hands carefully on Louis’ waist, inhaling softly as Louis’ blue eyes stared directly
into his own. Blue, but darker. Harry’s eyes slid to Louis’ neck, and he kept them there as they
stood in silence. The street was dark except for the lamplight, and there was no noise from cars,
houses, or anything else. Louis’ body was warm, his hands lamely hanging along his sides. Harry
wanted to wrap them around himself, but that was something he couldn’t do. Louis was close
anyway, and he smelled like sweat and grass like he always did. Could they go to Louis’ house and
just fall into one another there?

“I have tons of kinks you know nothing about,” he whispered, gently pushing his body closer.

“Please don’t share,” he heard against his jaw, but he didn’t tear his eyes from Louis’ skin. Under
his jacket, it was faintly tan, smooth, and warm. Harry’s fingers grabbed the zipper of his jacket
and tugged it slowly down. If he could have continued and removed all of his clothes then he
would have.

He felt Louis’ shoe clamp down on his foot, and he grimaced. Louis always wanted to irk him —
get a loud reaction. It was like he couldn’t handle quiet. Like he didn’t know what to do with
silence. Harry was used to silence, and he liked it when Louis was quiet. Therefore, he ignored the
pain as much as he could, and instead brought Louis as close as possible to himself. Louis turned
his chin away, but it only made more space for Harry to fit his nose right against his jaw. He
smelled amazing.

“Time’s ticking.”

“It starts when my lips touch your neck.” Harry didn’t plan to be rushed if he could help it. He’d
wanted to be close to Louis for weeks now. He missed feeling desired and wanted.

“Get to it now, or I’m leaving.”

“If you do, I’ll follow you back there…” He swallowed. “Let me.”

Louis was silent for a few moments, and Harry breathed in slowly. His body felt heavy, but he
didn’t think Louis would catch him if he let himself fall.

“Do you really think I steal people’s souls with kisses?” The query was unexpected. It was quiet, a
whisper. Louis’ voice sounded different. Harry had the overwhelming feeling that the question was
genuine.

“No,” he sighed. “You’re just an idiot.”

He then placed his lips against Louis’ neck and proceeded to lean into it. It was easy. Just like in
the shower that day, that seemed like ages ago right now, it felt so natural to be there. Louis tasted
as he smelled; sweat, grass, and something different. He didn’t move a muscle, but Harry didn’t
feel any sort of discomfort against himself so he continued. Kissing Louis’ skin, feeling his shivers,
and noticing how pliant he was against himself was odd, but it made Harry only want more. Truth
be told, he wasn’t certain how long he stayed there. Louis didn’t appear to be counting, and for a
second, Harry wondered if he enjoyed this just as much as he did.

He felt Louis’ breath across his left ear. It was a sigh; a sweet, uncontrolled sound. Harry felt his
whole body shrivel into one knot of deep, deep longing.

He let go, took a step back, swallowing. That feeling that had just slashed its way through him
echoed madly, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at the other guy’s face. He focused his eyes
on his neck instead, noticing small blushing shapes there, faintly.

“All right,” said Louis. “We’re done.”

Harry didn’t feel finished. He felt like something had only just started inside him.

Louis continued speaking as he began to back away towards his street. “So, Harold. This night has
been terribly unpleasant. I shall wish you a shitty Christmas and a boring New Year’s Eve.”

“Thank you, Lewis.” Harry’s mouth moved on its own, but his head didn’t feel all there. His
insides curled. “Did you like the kiss?” he asked, because he had to know.

“No. And, you’re welcome. I’ll see you after the holidays.”

Harry observed him. His beanie was a little bit askew, but he seemed to carry that usual aura of
confidence. Maybe the kiss hadn’t bothered him the way that it had bothered Harry.

“Yep, tragically,” he replied shortly.

“I’m already dreading it,” continued Louis.

“I’m going to lie awake at night, shivering with anxiety.” That was probably true, but not because
of Louis. Probably.

“You better.” He nodded, and then grabbed the football from the ground. Their eyes met in a short
gaze, and although Louis’ body language exuded the usual self-assurance, his eyes didn’t. They
were gentler, and flickered slightly over Harry in a way they normally wouldn’t. The knot
controlling Harry’s body tightened. The sound of Louis’ sigh repeated itself times a million within.

Louis turned around. Harry’s chest ached.

“Louis!” He couldn’t help himself. Fuck, but he couldn’t watch him go yet.

The other boy turned around, and Harry’s hand took hold of his shoulder. The ball fell to the
pavement below them, and Harry couldn’t stop it. His other hand slid around Louis’ neck, and he
pressed their bodies tightly to each other’s. It didn’t feel satisfactory, though. It wasn’t enough. Not
close enough. So, he kissed him.

Just like that, everything melted away. The anxiety and tightness within him slowly faded. It was
like as if he’d been carrying a rock above his head that had finally fallen down to the ground. There
was no pressure anymore. It allowed his hands to turn soft, and they hovered, barely touching
Louis’ skin. He didn’t need to hold him or force him to stay there. Louis remained just where he
was, his lips warm and lightly pressing against Harry’s. His hands moved, and he grabbed onto
Harry’s forearms, holding him in place. Harry swam in the feeling. He pressed his tongue against
Louis’ bottom lip, wanting only more, more, more, and Louis kissed him back with the same
amount of heat. His mouth was sweet, and the kissing didn’t seem to stop. It was slow, but intense,
growing in heat and building in passion.

It was dark and cold out, but Louis’ warmth was enough. Harry didn’t need anything else.

Standing there, on the pavement in the lamplight, Louis didn’t seem to want to stop, and Harry
couldn’t bring himself to. Each movement of his lips pulled at Harry’s strings, dipping into new,
urgent wants. It was only once he moved away to catch a little bit of breath that Louis sighed again.
Just in the way he had done before. It was more breathless now, but nevertheless as luscious. Harry
couldn’t believe that this was reality. He had to see Louis’ face and make certain it was.

He let go, and Louis stumbled back. For a second, they stood there, swallowing and breathing.
Harry couldn’t do anything but look, but there was nothing to be deciphered and understood from
Louis’ face. His lips were pink and lovely, though.

“Right,” whispered Louis. His voice cracked, and he instantly cleared his throat.

“Right,” whispered Harry. Right.

Louis retreated, but he gave Harry a small wave before he turned around and swiftly walked off.

Right, thought Harry. He picked up Louis’ football and walked the opposite way.
 Chapter 7

Christmas break was something Harry usually looked forward to. It meant a couple weeks of break
from school and tests, spent at home with his sister. They’d watch Christmas movies, bake holiday
sweets, and if they were lucky there’d be snow to play in outside. This year, Gemma wouldn’t be
home until a few days before Christmas Eve, and with his parents working pretty much throughout
the holidays, he knew he’d have a lot of time to himself. Another thing he tended to adore about
Christmas was the fact that he didn’t have to see Louis’ face for weeks. This year, that wasn’t what
he wanted at all, and waking up on Monday he almost wished there was school to get to. At least
then he knew he’d see Louis sooner or later. Knowing there was no certainty of doing that over the
next weeks was oddly disconcerting. He knew why.

The last few months had developed a sickening sense of comfort in being in Louis’ presence. Not
when he was mean, or they fought, or he said something particularly gnarly, but the times when he
was still and quiet. When he was actually bearable to be in company with. When he behaved like
an actual, decent human being. More specifically, the reason why Harry was abnormally opposed
to the idea of not seeing him was the night they had kissed. That evening was replaying in a
constant loop full of dizzying desire, a weird, tingly sense of discomfort, and full-flooded
confusion. It swirled around within him. He sort of wanted to push it away for later and ignore it,
but the sound of Louis sighing against him contended the desire. Louis had after all kissed him
back. Maybe... maybe he also felt something new inside, just like Harry? But had no clue what the
odds of that being true were, though.

The first week of the break went by quickly. Harry spent a lot of time with Zayn, who wasn’t
particularly busy during the holidays. He didn’t celebrate Christmas, but his family perpetually had
food and family around, which made spending time there feel more like a holiday than it did in
Harry’s own house. Zayn’s father cooked a lot, and none of them seemed opposed to Harry being
there, tasting Mr. Malik’s Pakistani treats, and sitting at the kitchen table joining them for dinner.
They hung out in Zayn’s room, playing video games, and sometimes Zayn’s sisters would join in.
Harry spent so much time in their house that he almost forgot to feel the anxiety that usually
hovered above him. He hardly had time to sit and think about Louis properly.

A few days into the holiday break, the two of them were at Harry’s house. Zayn had insisted they
invite some friends to play video games and drink beer, but before that, they required more
joysticks and games. Getting beer wouldn’t be difficult since they were both eighteen, but finding
the extra joysticks seemed more of a task.

“How do you not know where any of your things are?” Zayn complained. He was dragging his
hands through a drawer, shaking his head at the shelves that were organised yet didn’t make sense.

“I don’t know.” Truth was, they’d had a housekeeper for most of his life. She was great at putting
things away in a tidy manner, but once Harry needed to find something specific it would take him
hours unless he texted her. She was off today, away with her family, and he didn’t want to bother
her.

Zayn was in a black t-shirt with a flashy print on the front, his jeans slim, and socks strikingly
yellow against the dark of his trouser. His hair was done up in a quiff, but it was getting more and
more dishevelled the longer he dug through Harry’s chest drawers. Harry was lying on his belly,
glancing in behind his desk positioned against the wall. The joysticks weren’t there, but at least he
knew the housekeeper did a great job removing dust in even the most hidden nooks and corners.
Harry sat up on the floor, and Zayn moved over to the other side of the bed, reaching his hands in
behind the headboard of the bed.

“Something’s here!”

Harry’s posture straightened. Finally.

“What… Ew! Gross!” Zayn leaped from the bed like a scared cat. Harry leaned over as much as he
could without leaving his spot, glancing over at the other side of the bed. Zayn was standing on his
knees, staring, disgraced and miffed, at a pair of boxers, now in a heap on the floor.

Harry felt a little pale. Those boxers weren’t his.

“That’s disgusting, mate.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. He got up and grabbed them in a pinch, making a beeline for the
bathroom to toss them in the hamper.

“Wait!”

Harry stopped. His heart pounded heavily, and he felt the skin on his face tightening as the blood
drained from it.

“What does the number twenty-eight mean?” he asked. “Are those football shorts?”

“Their… mine.” It was a weak lie. Harry didn’t often lie to Zayn, and the words felt fuzzy and
repulsive on his tongue.

“That’s not true. You’ve got number seventeen.”

Shit. Zayn knew him too well.

“Okay,” he swallowed. He slowly turned around, finding his best friend staring, puzzled. “What
if…”

“Wait a sec. If those aren’t yours…” He seemed to make the math in his head. “Are you dating a
bloke on the team? Oh fuck,” he laughed, mirth suddenly replacing the cringed expression on his
face as realisation was setting in. “Of course, because you slept together at school! Makes sense
you did it there because you basically have half the place to yourselves after footie.”

Harry’s heart felt like it was hitting his throat with each blast. It was fast, and it made his hands
shake a little. He turned around and quickly stepped into the bathroom, dropping the dark boxers
into the laundry hamper. Number twenty-eight. Louis’ number. Louis must have left them in his
room when Harry kicked him out of the house many weeks before.

“Who has number twenty-eight?” asked Zayn’s voice from the bedroom. His voice was quiet, more
perplexed than anything else. Harry’s breath came out in a hitch against his lips. He placed his
hands against his face, covering it as his fingers pressed into the undersides of his eyebrows. Louis
would be mad if he knew Zayn knew.

Harry peaked his head out of the bathroom, shyly glancing over at his friend. He was standing
there, eyes flitting from object to object inside Harry’s room, clearly in deep thought. His eyes
seemed to land on the football resting against the wall, near the door. Which belonged to Louis.
There was no way Zayn would know, but the ball was actually an original Champions League
football from the final of 2015. It was a bit worn, didn’t cost too much at the time, and was heavily
retailed, but it was the design used when Barcelona had beaten Juventus for the title. The leather
was carved in stars, specked with blue, green, purple, and red. Louis seemed to be a Barcelona fan,
even if he’d never trade the top spot from United. Harry hadn’t been able to leave it on the ground
there on the street. He wanted to hand it back to Louis.

Zayn looked up with a jerk. “Are you joking?”

Harry’s breath seemed unable to move at a normal pace.

“I don’t believe it.” Zayn shook his head, and then he suddenly looked angry. His shoulders turned
stiff, and his eyes disappeared under his eyebrows that burrowed down towards his nose. He knew.

“Zayn,” Harry whispered.

“That guy?” he exclaimed. “That fucking idiot?”

Harry dragged his hands through his hair. He knew Louis would be angry about this, but he hadn’t
accounted for Zayn being pissed knowing it was Louis. His friend paced to the opposite end of the
room, swiftly flipped around, and walked straight up until he was standing face to face with Harry.

“Is it Louis Tomlinson?” he said through gritted teeth.

Harry nodded.

Zayn’s palms fell to the floor, and even the veins on the top of his hands seemed offended as he
spoke. “Harry,” he said, brown eyes strikingly aflame. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Harry stared up at the ceiling. Why was Zayn so offended by it? Sure, it was a shock, but upset?

“Tomlinson is your guy?” He repeated the question like he still couldn’t believe it.

“He’s not mine.”

“Have you utterly lost it?”

Harry gritted his teeth. “I haven’t.”

“Why? Why would you ever want to be with him?”

Harry kept his mouth closed, but he stared at the wall rather than at Zayn. His insides had gotten
harder, but also colder. He didn’t know the answer to that question. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t
like the answer. Part of him knew there was a reason to be concerned about all of this, but he
would rather push it away.

His friend’s hand touched his shoulder, earning his attention.

“Harry,” he said, voice softer now. “I’m just trying to understand why you would open yourself to
someone who has bullied you for the last three years of your life.”

“He’s not so…” he tried. “Sometimes he’s nice.”

“Sometimes? What about the other ninety-five per cent of the time? When he is a jerk for no
reason? When hurts you for no reason?”

Harry shook his head. He stared at the wall. He noticed Zayn’s hand fall off his shoulder.

“I think this is a mistake, Harry.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled. After a couple of seconds, he looked up and was met with Zayn’s eyes.
His friend looked disappointed, unhappy, but the initial indignation was slowly dissipating from
his face. They were silent for a few moments, neither of them willing to change their stance. Harry
didn’t want to fight with Zayn, but even though most of him agreed that it was fucked up the way
he let this happen despite the fact that Louis had tortured him throughout three whole years of
school, there was a tiny, teeny part of him that also couldn’t accept that this was a mistake. That
teeny part of him had witnessed a small set of sweet minutes where all of the other hours of misery
seemed to dissolve and fade in comparison.

“Maybe Liam has joysticks.” His friend started to leave the room. Harry heard him shout from the
hallway, “Are you coming?!”

Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself. “Coming,” he called.

It turned out Liam did have joysticks. He also had plenty of games. Harry hadn’t ever been to his
house before, but his parents weren’t home for the night and Zayn decided to move his party there
instead. He didn’t know quite how well Zayn knew Liam, but it seemed Liam was mates with
everyone. He was a friendly boy, with those thick eyebrows, and a disposition of patience and ease.
Harry didn’t know why he’d never truly made friends with the guy; maybe simply because Louis
seemed to already be close with him.

During football training, it was easy to see who was tightknit with whom. Harry and Louis despised
one another. Louis was chaotic, and agreeing with that fashion of life was Stan, who appeared to
enjoy dramatics and adventure. He was best mates with Lee, who in turn was a brown-haired lad
with dimples and freckles all at once. Freddie, a kind-hearted blond boy, was often hanging out
with Ed, who in Harry’s view was the nicest of all of them. Ed had red hair and a funny grin that
Harry liked. He, much like Liam, never seemed to take sides on Harry and Louis’ issues.

Harry didn’t judge or dislike anyone who preferred Louis over himself, and he’d never tried to
create two camps that armed themselves against one another. It was Louis who had created the
animosity. However, none of Louis’ friends ever seemed to have anything against Harry, though.
The team wasn’t particularly close-knit, and everyone seemed to have their own cliques outside of
footie, which is why Harry was kind of surprised to find Stan, and another one of Louis’ friends
called Oli, at Liam’s house. They were nice enough lads, but he hadn’t expected Liam to invite
them, especially because he’d never noticed Zayn in the same space as these boys. Harry didn’t
blame anyone for being friends with Louis, but Zayn often did just that. He tended to think that the
people one was friends with told of one’s character.

Perhaps it was because of Liam that they were all there, and the fact that he was such a mate with
everyone. Maybe Louis hadn’t set a border on whom his mates were allowed to hang out with,
even if it was Harry. Or, more reasonably, none of them had known Harry was coming, because
honestly, he didn’t often go to parties anymore. If they didn’t know, though… then maybe even
Louis was coming tonight?

Harry’s heart made a little jump at the thought, a hopeful little sense of exhilaration. He wanted to
see the guy that had kissed him devotedly in the lamplight not so long ago. Him, and only him,
though. He didn’t want to see the Louis that existed in the real realms of football and schoolmates;
the guy that Zayn was overwhelmingly right to deprecate. Perhaps it was better if Louis didn’t
show, Harry thought, swallowing. He didn’t want to have him and Zayn in the same room tonight.

Not only Stan and Oli showed up at the party. Ed also came over, and a couple of friends of Liam’s
who went to his French class. Harry kept looking at the door, wondering whether Louis would
suddenly barge in. Stan and Oli didn’t seem bothered by Harry’s presence, and Harry wondered if
the hatred really and truly was only about Louis. It made him wonder, why he, specifically, made
Louis so unreasonably resentful. Why had Louis chosen him to harass all those years ago? Why
was he still doing it now? What had Harry done to deserve any of Louis’ verbal and emotional
abuse? Was it because of that dumb little jersey number, or perhaps because he felt threatened by
Harry’s talent on the footie pitch? Was it because Harry was a hazard to Louis Tomlinson’s
chances at getting into one of the most sought-after football academies in the country? Perhaps, he
thought, Louis was just mean. Maybe that decent side of him was a fluke.

They drank beer and played PlayStation. Liam’s living room was large and the sofa could hold at
least five people without feeling cramped. The front door was thrown open at one point during the
night, and Harry’s heart started to speed until he realised it was only Liam’s girlfriend arriving.
Sophia had another girlfriend in tow, and they situated themselves on the floor. Harry, who had
drunk three beers by then, watched them roll a spliff on the floor. The friend of Sophia was blonde,
and she had very blue eyes. They were nice, but they didn’t have that depth, the layers and layers
of different colour blues that seemed so illuminated on Louis’ face.

Harry’s chest still ached from that afternoon. Zayn wasn’t angry anymore, but Harry knew he
wasn’t happy with what Harry was choosing to do. He’d felt so at ease this whole week and
suddenly the ball of anxiety was back in his chest.

His eyes followed Zayn when the boy left the room and walked outside. Harry could see him
through the window, where he stood on the pavement next to the street. He smoked a cigarette,
talking on his phone for a couple moments. He stayed out there for another few minutes until a car
pulled up along the curb. Harry was surprised when he saw the blond head of Louis’ friend out
there. The guy wasn’t taller than Louis, and his hair was styled upward in a quiff just like Zayn’s.
His face was much rounder, however, and his laugh could be heard even through the window as he
chatted with Zayn on the pavement.

“So, is Louis also coming then?” Harry asked Liam, who was sitting next to him on the sofa. He
nodded towards the window. Liam looked up, but shook his head.

“Don’t worry, mate,” he said. “Louis doesn’t hang out much.”

Harry peered at him through the corner of his eye. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s quite busy these days. He trains a lot, and I think he needs to
take care of his sisters sometimes. His mum works a lot of nights.”

Harry continued to look at him, frowning at Liam’s casual knowledge. “Do you know him well?”

“I wouldn’t say I know him well,” said Liam seriously. “He doesn’t tend to share much of his true
feelings, if you know what I mean. He’s quite private. But in a way, I know a lot about him. I
know the way he acts, and that when he likes a person, he is very loyal to them. I know he tries his
hardest at most things, and he follows his initial feelings pretty blindly. When he likes something,
he loves it. When he dislikes something, he —”

“Hates it,” finished Harry. Great.

He put down his bottle of beer on the table and got up. He walked into the hallway and began to
pull his shoes on. He grabbed his jacket and met Zayn on the doorstep outside. The car on the
street was gone.

Zayn looked at him, a little red around the eyes. “You wanna’ smoke?” He held up a joint.
“I’ll have another beer.”

Harry walked straight inside and took a beer from the kitchen, but on his way out he bumped into
Liam again.

“You all right?” He seemed concerned. “You just left.”

“Never been better,” he replied, and tried to side-track him.

“Hey,” said Liam, voice firmer this time. “You want to go outside to chat?”

“I’ve got Zayn,” he muttered, but after another moment of thought, he stopped and actually looked
him in the eye. “Thanks, though,” he said, meaning it. Liam was kind.

He nodded. “It’s all good, mate.”

Harry left the house and met Zayn on the lawn outside. It was fairly late, and the December cold
instantly bit at his cheeks. He found his beanie in the pocket of his winter jacket, a black puffer
that squeezed around the dark blue hoodie beneath it. He crammed the hat down over his ears, and
let Zayn lead him to the backyard. Behind the house was an old swing set. It didn’t look like it had
been touched in years, and there was a layer of frozen ice on the seats of the swings. They sat
down on one each after brushing off the ice, the cold seeping in through their jeans and down their
thighs. Zayn lit the joint, and blew crystallized smoke into the air.

“What I don’t get is how,” he said after a while, and Harry stared grimly at the ground. “What
changed to make you want him. I mean, of all the nice guys out there.”

Harry didn’t fucking know that. If he had known, he wouldn’t have felt so torn up about it.

“I didn’t even know he was gay,” muttered Zayn.

“You can’t tell anyone that.”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “But why are you so bloody adamant to protect him? I don’t get it.”

“It’s just…” Harry said, breathing in the icy air. “Sometimes… he just gets it. What I need. I know
he’s a freaking idiot most days, but then there are those moments where he makes me feel like —”

Fuck.

Zayn’s voice was quiet. “Feel like what?”

“Like…” He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t go on. He didn’t want to explore what could
come out of his mouth if he let his mind continue down that path.

They were silent for another few moments. The cold spread down to Harry’s calves. Zayn
continued to smoke, and Harry nearly finished his fourth beer of the night. He glanced over at his
friend, who looked back at him with a frown.

“I don’t like it,” said Zayn gravelly. “I think he is mean, and weird. I don’t want you to be together
with someone who doesn’t care about you.”

“We’re not together, though.”

“Whatever that means! No matter what, sex puts you in a vulnerable place. Being that close to
someone isn’t without risks. You must know that.”
Harry glared at the ground. He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to feel what he felt when
Zayn spoke those words.

“Do you have feelings for him?” asked Zayn. He didn’t seem like he wanted to know the answer
unless it was negative.

Harry’s bottom lip quivered. “No…,” he whispered.

God, why? He wanted to scream. He didn’t want to feel that way! Zayn was right about all of the
things he had said that day, and yet all Harry could think about were the short moments where
Louis was still and quiet, and gentle. It was pathetic!

“Whatever you do, Harry,” said Zayn, “I will support you. I just don’t want to see you get your
heart broken.”

“It won’t get to that.”

He wasn’t even certain of what he felt. All he knew was that he’d never felt in any way like this
before in his life. Jasmine had never made him feel anything, and still, he’d thought he loved her.
Who was to say he wasn’t completely wrong once again? He felt the anxiety transmit through his
whole body. Why had everything suddenly come to this?

“I love you, mate. Just promise me one thing.”

“Okay?”

“Do not let him take advantage of you. Do not let him, or any other guy for that matter, fuck with
you. If you like him, then you deserve better than being used.”

Harry stared at him. He felt sorrow, anger, and confusion tangle in an anguishing concoction in his
chest. Was Louis taking advantage of him? Why did that thought make him feel sad rather than
offended? He would’ve liked to think he knew Louis better than Zayn, but did he really know
Louis at all? Maybe not. However, Zayn didn’t, either. As Liam had said, Louis didn’t share his
feelings, so perhaps there was something he wasn’t telling. Like, whether he was using Harry for
sex, or if he felt something, too. Something small.

At any rate, Harry could only do with what he knew. What he knew, was that he felt something.
And he definitely wasn’t willing to get his heart broken over it.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I won’t.”

They were all sitting at the dinner table. They were four, Harry’s parents, him, and his sister.
Gemma was wearing white jeans, and a white tank top with a matching, oversize blazer. Her
earrings were large and gold. Her boyfriend had given them to her for Christmas, and she’d opened
the gift that morning at the fireplace, squealing and almost crying. Harry had watched,
unimpressed, but kept a smile plastered to his lips. His parents were, too, wearing white. They had
golden wedding rings and wide smiles on their faces. Everything seemed a bit blurry around the
edges, fuzzy. Harry squinted, tried to look around, but it was as though he couldn’t quite move with
the speed and energy he wanted.

“I’m so happy,” said Harry’s mother. There was a creepy smile on her face. It was too wide. Her
eyes were disconcertingly pale and lacked a human sort of sentiment. They were kind of empty.
Harry looked closer, this time at his father. He had golden cufflinks. His eyes didn’t blink.
“I’m so happy,” said Harry’s father.

“I’ve never been so pleased,” echoed Gemma. Her fingers slowly stroked her left earring,
caressing. Harry gazed at the movement, following her finger, scratching, rubbing faster and faster
at the gold. It rubbed and rubbed, and Harry felt anxious and uncomfortable as the finger continued
at a suddenly inhuman pace. Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away. His body didn’t allow it. He was
locked in.

Rapidly, his sister’s head snapped to face him. Her white, disgusting eyes stared like a corpse’s
straight into his. Shivers ran like spiders all over him, and he almost gasped as her dead face looked
at him accusingly.

“What was it you wanted to tell me all these months ago?”

“What?” he whispered.

“You wanted to tell me something. I’m here now. Share it.”

Harry shook his head.

His sister’s voice was powerful, dead, and hard. “Tell it!”

“I’m gay,” he whispered.

The room swirled. He was upside down. He felt nausea churning in his gut, like he was going to
vomit any second. He felt like was tossed back and forth in the air, all over white eyes and gold
rings circling around him. The room swirled for long, excruciating minutes.

Then he was back in his chair. His fingers shook. His family, sitting around the table were quiet.
They stared, but they… stared at his chest. Harry looked down, and saw his clothes. He was
wearing black. Everything, from his tie to his socks, was in the blackest of black. The colour of a
black hole in space. Slowly, he felt a blasting pain in his chest. It was small at first but got bigger.
He kept looking at his chest, noticing how the hole kept growing, eliminating more and more of
his body.

He was disappearing. He looked up, frantically searching for help. His family watched him, their
faces dead and unmoving. Slowly, his mother lifted her hand. She waved, doing absolutely nothing
as he slowly, painfully, burned into nothing.

Harry sat right up in his bed. His body was coated with sweat. His naked chest was slick, and his
curls were plastered to his forehead. His heart pelted hard and burned against his throat. He still felt
sick. He pushed the covers off himself and headed towards the bathroom. He bent over the toilet,
thinking he’d vomit, but nothing came out. It was painful as his stomach clenched, trying to throw
up nothing. He hadn’t eaten the night before, but nausea from the nightmare lingered. When his
stomach eventually stopped clenching, he sat down on the floor, and let his head fall back against
the wall. Small tears started to fall down, hitting his jaw and making the slide down his throat
where they disappeared. He sat there for a couple of minutes, trying to slow his breathing.

The clock on his bedroom wall told him it was half six in the morning. The worst part of the
nightmare was that it was a near repetition of the Christmas Day lunch. His family hadn’t worn
white, and their faces hadn’t been creepy and fucked up, but Gemma had asked him that very
specific question. He’d waved it off, unnerved by her suddenly bringing it up. He thought he was
ready at the beginning of term to tell her, but truthfully, he hadn’t been. He wasn’t there yet. And
he supposed some kind of guilt was still lingering because of it.
He’d convinced his parents to allow him to make the drive alone to get Gemma from university a
few days before Christmas Day, and it was nice to receive a few hours of thought to himself. There
was simply the road, and music from his phone plugged into the car. He could shout the lyrics to
songs however loud he wanted, and it didn’t matter if it was something girly and emotional, or
whatever his father would call it. He had thought about Christmas as he drove, about how they’d
all sit around the table and pretend everything was just like it was before Gemma left. He didn’t
have the energy to explain to her the lonesome spirit that ghosted over the house these days. He
wanted it to go back to normal, if only for a few days.

Harry had also thought about Louis, and he had come to a decision. He’d taken Zayn’s words into
account, too. So, if Louis Tomlinson kept being mean, then Harry would try to break it off. If he
wasn’t, though, then Harry didn’t have reason to end it. He could continue to have sex with Louis
because there was no harm in it. If Louis was a decent guy, there was nothing wrong with Harry
opening himself to such a sanitary, beneficial relationship. It was all up to Louis. Ultimately, it was
obvious even to Harry which option he deep down preferred.

Once he arrived at the campus, Gemma wrapped her arms around him and squeezed him so hard he
almost felt breathless. It looked like she was shorter than the last time he saw her, but she assured
him it was he who had grown. They had listened to Christmas music on the way back to Doncaster,
and Gemma had sung loudly off-pitch to all of the songs. Harry hadn’t minded, though. It had been
great.

The days of Christmas went on, surprisingly quickly. Gemma and Harry watched movies on the
sofa, cuddling the cat, hands clasped around mugs of hot chocolate their mother had made. Their
parents had taken some days off work and seemed to actually be on their best behaviour. Harry had
watched them walk into their old shoes, acting exactly as though everything was back to normal. It
did make him uncomfortable, how hard they tried in front of Gemma. Once his older sister had left
the house and Christmas was over, he could see a load of bricks drop off their shoulders. They
pretended everything was fine in front of her, their little pearl, but not in front of Harry. How fair
was that?

It was the last day of December when Harry woke up after his nightmare. When he saw his mother
later that morning, he almost expected her to still have white eyes and a cold face. She looked
absolutely normal.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” she said happily. She hugged him, and even though she was warm,
Harry still felt shivers run down his back.

“Happy New Year,” he said.

“Dinner tonight is going to be lovely. I got us a table at a restaurant where you can pick your own
lobster.”

“That’s barbaric, Mum!”

She looked up at him, surprised. “Oh?” Her face shaped into disappointment. “Oh… Perhaps we
can cancel? But I don’t think we can get another place with such late notice on New Year’s Eve…”
She began to mumble quietly, and Harry realised with a heavy heart that she was worried the night
was completely ruined now.

He didn’t particularly fancy watching lobsters get picked for the kill in a tank, but the worrisome
expression on her face and the stress lines on her forehead protruding more and more made him
feel guilty for the outburst.
“It’s fine, Mum. Really,” he assured. “It’s cool. Sorry, I just don’t like that they’re kept like that.”

“Okay,” she exhaled. Her shoulders relaxed, and Harry gave her a small smile. He couldn’t wait
for the holidays to be over. It was hard to believe it, but he actually couldn’t wait for school to start
again. He needed football, and he needed space from his parents.

Dinner began at eight that night. They took a taxi to the restaurant, where they got a fancy booth.
His father ordered champagne and they toasted to the new year. Harry’s dad wore a semi-fancy
suit, and his mother a dark dress and her bracelet. Harry had pulled a dress shirt on with black
trousers, and a bowtie around his neck. His dad had fixed it for him, uncharacteristically helpful,
but rather than happy it made Harry feel wary. His parents weren’t as upbeat as when Gemma had
been home, but the mood seemed to linger somewhat.

They were trying, and Harry didn’t know if it made him happy or more uncomfortable.

“So, you’ve got a big party tonight?”

“Yeah,” nodded Harry. There’d been a Facebook event circling online, but it wasn’t until Liam had
texted him to ask whether he was interested that he’d actually decided to go. He was kind of
looking forward to it, but he also wasn’t sure what mood he’d be in later that night after dinner with
his parents.

“Who is going then?” his mother asked.

“Zayn, and some people from class.”

“He’s a good boy. You’ve been friends for so long.”

“Yup.”

He wondered what Louis was doing tonight. Was he with his sisters? With his blond friend, Niall?
Was he home, or was he out drinking with friends?

Harry had woken up on Christmas Eve, wanting to text Louis, knowing it was his birthday. It was
fucked up, but it was the first thing he’d thought of. And then he’d thought about the kiss. He’d
ruminated in detail over Louis’ quiet disposition, his firm hands holding onto Harry’s own arms,
the way his tongue felt in his own mouth… And he hadn’t done it. Texting Louis just to wish him
a happy birthday was a hundred times more daunting than asking him to come over and fuck, and
Harry hadn’t even mustered the courage to do that since the kiss.

Nevertheless, after making his decision about Louis, he wanted to see him. He needed to. He had to
know what the future was going to be like. Would he have to break it off with him? Zayn’s words
echoed, and Harry wondered again and again if Louis really was just using him for sex. He didn’t
want to be used. However, hadn’t he also been using Louis? He guessed not. Not if he… had some
sort of vague, awkward feelings for him deep down. But that was fucking if.

It was easier to give Louis the choice.

“So, how is Jasmine?” asked Harry’s father during the starter, and Harry’s shoulders stiffened.
“What?” he whispered.

“You used to be so close,” he said, looking at him, brows raised. Shock clutched Harry’s body, and
he stared back at his father silently, whose face turned into a frown. “What? I know some of your
friends. Is she also going to the party?”
Harry swallowed. “We are not close anymore.”

“Oh, why not?” sighed his mum. Her hand stroked his arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing really, Mum. We just don’t hang out.”

“I thought you were dating.”

“Dad. No.” Harry shook his head firmly. He didn’t want to talk about this. He pushed the finished
plate away and took a deep sip from his champagne.

“Any other girls you like then?”

He shook his head again, curls scraping his jaw. “No.”

His clothes felt uncomfortable. He wanted to loosen the bowtie, but his father had knitted it so
firmly that he didn’t know how to remove it.

His father laughed. “Are you sure? You look a little flustered, son.”

Oh, God. His heart beat harder again.

I’m gay.

I’m gay.

“I’m —”

“Was everything okay?” It was the waiter. “Can I take your plates?”

“Oh, it was so lovely!” chirped Harry’s mum. The food had been good, but Harry couldn’t
remember what they’d just eaten anymore. He wanted to leave. For once, his parents wanted to talk
about him, and yet he didn’t have anything of satisfaction to offer up.

“Could I have a beer, please?” he asked the waiter.

“Of course, sir.”

The rest of the night was the same. His father ordered the lobster, while his mother opted for the
tuna steak. Harry squeezed her arm and assured her the lobster was fine if she wanted it, but she
made it clear that she wasn’t going to have it. He knew it was because of what he’d said that
morning, but it made him feel guilty, as though he had ruined their special New Year’s Eve dinner.
Harry ordered ratatouille.

By the time it was half-past ten, they had finished dessert and another bottle of champagne. His
mother’s cheeks were flushed, and his father looked pleased. The rest of the dinner had sailed past
without further strain, but Harry was ready to go. Looking at his parents trying so hard to make the
evening perfect was another kind of draining. He wanted to get to the party, and find Zayn. Or
Louis. His parents had a bar reservation, and his mother had already ordered a taxi that would bring
Harry to the party.

“All right, sweetheart. It looks like it’s outside now.” She grabbed a card from her wallet and
placed it in his hand. “Here. To pay. And perhaps you can get some breakfast with your friends
tomorrow, too. You know, for the hangover.”

He almost laughed. “You’ve been drinking too much.”

Harry’s father laughed, too. “She’s amazing when she drinks.”

Harry shook his head, but couldn’t help letting out a breathy chuckle as he got up from the table.
“Don’t let her drink more, Dad.”

He leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Mum.”

“Night, honey.”

“Have fun,” said his father. “And your mum was joking about the hangover. Don’t drink too much.
Curfew at two. And I want a picture of proof with Dusty.”

“Are you two even going to be home by then?”

“We might get a hotel.”

“Ew, Dad!”

“What?”

Harry grimaced. “Disgusting. Bye now.”

“Bye!” His parents waved, and Harry made a beeline for the exit. He got his coat back and left the
restaurant swiftly. The car was indeed waiting outside, and he released a breath of relief the
moment they were headed back to his part of town. Finally. He felt odd watching his parents
manoeuvre around one another. Sometimes they were awful. Sometimes they were happy. In the
last few months, they had changed back and forth so often that he didn’t know what was real
anymore. It made him feel lonely, like he was outside of it all, constantly trying to understand.

He arrived at the party two minutes past eleven. It was only an hour until midnight, and the house
seemed full, like most people had already arrived. Harry carefully began to tread his way through
the hallway. He had never been to this house before, but he knew the girl who lived there. She was
a cheerleader called Kelly, whom he had spoken to once or twice during game nights. She
sometimes brought paint to line their faces with before matches, and she generally seemed like
good fun. To offer her house up to most of the senior year on New Year’s Eve was pretty brave in
Harry’s opinion.

The house was fairly dark, with smaller lamps lit here and there, but most of the light seemed to
consist of old-fashioned lava lamps and circulating disco balls that flashed in colour. Kelly had
large speakers set up in the middle of the house that were on full blast, but most people appeared to
be standing or sitting in large groups around the house, drinking alcohol or smoking weed, rather
than to be dancing.

Harry kept a careful eye out for Zayn, but the first person he noticed that he knew was Liam. He
was in the living room — an extravagant room not so different from Harry’s at home — but he was
snogging his girlfriend, so Harry didn’t approach. He then spotted Louis’ blond friend kissing a
brunette girl from his science class, and there were plenty more of his football teammates who
seemed to have paired off with girls. Harry had had a couple of drinks, so he didn’t feel entirely
sober, but he wasn’t drunk enough not to notice the uncomfortable air of people looking for
someone to pull. Harry didn’t like it.

He walked to the kitchen, got a beer, and strode back towards the living room. Ed grabbed his
shoulder there, and they talked for a few minutes before Harry finally spotted Zayn and waved him
over. The three of them headed out to the backyard, where there was a terrace with outdoor
furniture. People had accumulated there around the ashtrays. Ed and Zayn smoked, and Harry
drank beer. It wasn’t that the party was boring. It looked fun. Harry just didn’t feel quite part of it
yet.

“You okay, lad?” asked Zayn. Harry wondered how his friend found it so easy, hanging out in the
middle of the sea of people he didn’t know.

“Yeah, just a long dinner with my parents.”

“I know what you mean,” said Ed, shaking his head and making his red hair fly. “My parents are
crazy about New Year’s. Too much food, too many of their friends. I was glad to get out of there
quickly. Plus, there’s a girl in my maths I’ve been wanting to hang out with… If you know what, I
mean.” His grin was filthy.

“Melissa?” asked Harry.

“Yeah!”

“I saw her snogging Niall.”

Ed’s face fell. “Niall?”

“Tomlinson’s friend,” clarified Zayn. Harry looked at him, and their eyes met at the mention of
Louis.

“Fuck! Dammit,” swore Ed. He looked briefly defeated, but after only a few minutes he was
picking himself up, jumping a little up and down as though he were shaking real pain out of his
body. “Don’t worry. I’ll find someone else. Her loss.”

Harry chuckled at his rallying and watched his teammate stride off into the house, clearly a man on
a mission.

“Where’s your lad then?” asked Zayn, voice quieter.

Harry looked at him, slightly cautious. He didn’t want to be reprimanded again, and they hadn’t
really talked about Louis since the party at Liam’s.

“Don’t worry,” his friend said calmly. He took a few strides away from the nearest group of
people, and Harry followed him silently until they were secluded enough for conversation. “I’ve
said what I wanted. It’s your choice,” he shrugged.

Harry exhaled, pursing his lips. He felt a little uncomfortable, and there wasn’t much to say. “I
haven’t seen him since school ended.”

Zayn squinted at him. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Harry huffed out another breath and crossed his arms. “I don’t know about that, mate. I just…” He
didn’t finish.

“You want to snog him on New Year’s, of course.”

“No. I,” he hesitated. The truth of it was more complicated. He only knew he wouldn’t be happy if
he saw Louis kissing someone else that night. “I don’t want him to kiss anyone else,” he mumbled.

“I’m gonna’ find him,” said Zayn.

Harry gaped. His friend’s face had turned determined. “What — no, Zayn! What are you doing?!”
Zayn slapped Harry’s hand off his arm. “Don’t worry, I’m not saying anything. I’ll just help find
him. And I will kick his fucking arse if he’s out there pulling some other bloke. For real.”

Harry was about to yell at him to stop, but suddenly the music in the house cut out. Using a
megaphone, someone from the top floor of the house shouted, “Thirty minutes till midnight! Let’s
get fucking pissed!” and it stopped them in their tracks, but then the music was back on, louder.

“Who the hell’s got a megaphone,” laughed Zayn. “Fucking bonkers.”

Harry allowed himself to laugh. “Mad lad.”

Zayn grinned, and then he grabbed Harry’s upper arm. “C’mon. Let’s go get your bloke.”

“He isn’t —”

“Shut up.”

Harry sighed. Zayn clearly had taken something. He usually was a happy and productive person,
but he didn’t tend to meddle very much with people’s business. Especially not Harry’s. Harry
walked into the house after him, his best friend very quickly moving through the rooms. Harry
followed, looking vaguely for Louis, but more seriously trying to drench the anxiety he felt at Zayn
trying to get himself involved in his relationship. Zayn was exaggerating Harry’s feelings for Louis
greatly, but he had made Harry fess up. What he’d said was the truth. If he found Louis snogging
someone else it would be undeniably painful. And it’d be fucking over.

“I found him.” Zayn caught Harry on the upper floor. Harry turned around at the sound of his voice
and frowned as he noticed his face. He seemed a little worse for wear, only fifteen minutes after
disappearing.

“How?”

“Mad skills, mate.”

Harry squinted. “Where is he?”

“Bathroom. He’s a little out of it, just so you know.”

“Is he okay?”

“Sure. Just high! Like, real fucking stoned. Pretty funny.”

“You look pretty fucked up, too, Z.”

“Never said it was anything wrong with it,” grinned Zayn wickedly, hands reaching for his pocket.
“Do you want some molly, too? I got it last night.”

Harry feigned a smile. “Another time.”

“I’ll hold you to it!”

Harry left him where he was, shaking his head. He traipsed down the stairs, and as he did his heart
began beating faster. He located the bathroom quickly and inhaled deeply before opening the door.
Upon doing exactly so, he saw nothing. The room looked like a normal bathroom, with a toilet, a
rug, a sink, and a bathtub. Everything looked normal until Harry realised the bathtub had Louis
Tomlinson in it.
“You’re not Lima,” said Louis as soon as he got a good look at him.

“No,” said Harry. His breath felt uneven, but as he watched Louis rest against the side of the tub,
cheek pressed to the edge, he realised that Zayn was evidently right; Louis looked stoned. Harry’s
heart rate slowed somewhat. Perhaps this meant Louis wouldn’t be on edge then.

“What are you doing here?” asked Louis, but he sounded a bit curious, rather than annoyed.

“Zayn told me you were here.”

“Why?”

“’Cause he’s my friend.”

Louis raised a brow. Even high, and in a bathtub, he looked purposeful and severe doing it. “Did
you want to see me?”

Harry locked the door behind himself and made his way to the tub. The air was different in the
bathroom. It was colder, more clear. It felt more like reality, than out there among all the people
Harry didn’t really know. He climbed over the edge, and settled down into the bathtub quietly,
focusing on breathing steadily. His legs fit only on the outsides of Louis’, and he pulled his knees
towards himself. It got a little easier to breathe a few moments in.

Louis watched him from the other side of the tub. His hair was all over the place, though it
obviously had some hairspray in it. He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, and his skin was faintly tan,
as usual. It was like Harry couldn’t help but notice every time he looked at him. He was
unbearably gorgeous, and so fucking fit. Jesus.

His heart made a double-beat as he opened his mouth to speak, and it came out in a whisper.
“So…”

The last time he saw this boy, he’d been snogging him. What was it going to be this time? Maybe
Louis regretted it.

“So, how was your break?” continued Louis. His voice was hesitant, as if he was, too, testing the
waters.

“Okay,” answered Harry, truthfully. His hand clamped his trouser leg, trying to keep his fingers
from trembling. It was the first time he had seen Louis since he knew there was a little part of him
that… Fucking hell. Liked him. Liked Louis Tomlinson.

“Cool,” said Louis.

“Yours?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Are you drunk?” asked Harry. He didn’t know what else to say. It was pathetic. Louis was clearly
high as hell.

Louis’ eyes were glassy blue. “A little. You?”

The back of the tub was a bit cold against his shirt. He shivered and then shrugged lamely at
Louis’ question.

“Time’s it?” asked Louis.

Harry glanced around the room and found a little clock sitting on a shelf on the other side of the
bathroom. “Eleven fifty-six.”

Louis rolled his eyes for some reason, leaning further back in the tub. His legs rubbed against
Harry’s calves. “Happy New Year.”

Harry scoffed at the lamely said words, his head moving back in a swift movement. Behind him,
the wall was closer than expected. He hit his head and he instantly winced at the pain that spread
down his neck. He heard Louis’ laugh before he saw his face. Of course, he would laugh at
Harry’s discomfort. When Harry looked at him, though, he noticed Louis’ eyes had lit up as he
grinned, face oddly calm as he stared back at Harry’s grimace. Louis pushed his shoe into Harry’s
inner thigh, and the touch, even with a shoe, felt comforting somehow. Harry settled back against
the wall without anything to complain about.

“What are you doing here. Really?” enquired Louis again. His voice was more serious, and his
blue eyes searched for some kind of answer on Harry’s face. Harry couldn’t give him one.

“I have no fucking idea.”

Harry didn’t know if he was making it up in his mind, but Louis looked like he understood. After
all, Louis was also sitting in a bathtub all alone a few minutes before midnight on New Year’s Eve.

“Who are you going to kiss at midnight then?”

Harry’s eyes flashed up. Louis was gazing at him, straight in the face. He looked serious. Harry’s
heart moved faster again, forcefully pressing into his ribcage with each pound. And reality seemed
to dawn on him then. Louis hadn’t been out there kissing anyone. He was alone in a bathtub, and
he was asking Harry about snogging.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” Harry’s question was blurted out, but direct. He would do it.
Easily. With Louis’ permission this time. He didn’t know what made him brave enough to ask, but
the world felt different in that bathroom, and Louis’ foot against his leg was comforting yet.

Louis shrugged casually. “Time’s it?”

Well. It wasn’t a no, or a yes.

“Eleven fifty-seven.”

They were silent for a bit, and Harry’s eyes moved to the ceiling above them. He felt suddenly
tired, energy fading. It had been a long break. He had spent a lot of time with Zayn, and he had
been surrounded by people most of the holiday, so it was strange, but that made the everlasting
loneliness that much worse once it finally hit him. It burned because it made him realise that even
when he was enveloped by friends and family the anxiety and solitude would always return. It was
a long time since he had gotten along completely without worry. It was hard. It was scary.

He didn’t why, but in the realm of the bathtub, he felt brave.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he whispered to the ceiling. Louis was there, but Harry didn’t know if
he was telling him, or just speaking the feeling into existence. At least if it was out in the air, it
wouldn’t be another thing he had to brave inside his head. The room was silent for a moment, but
Harry eventually heard Louis’ answer.

“Yeah,” he whispered. It was very still, very gentle. It was said in the manner that Louis would
move when he was caught off guard by something new. Like when Harry had kissed him. It was
quiet, calm.

Harry didn’t dare look at him until he noticed Louis beginning to move inside the tub. He was
leaving, Harry thought, hating the sense of distress that hit him. He really hated it. Being all alone.

It took a moment before he understood what Louis was doing. At first, he thought he was just too
high to even get out of the tub on his own, the way he was struggling, but then he finally began to
face Harry. His knees slotted around Harry’s thighs, and his elbows landed atop his shoulders. He
was close. He smelled like marijuana, and something else, not himself. Louis’ eyes were inches
from Harry’s, sparkling in blue. His fringe brushed against Harry’s forehead, and when his fingers
carved into Harry’s hair, pushing it back, Harry wanted to do nothing more than to disappear into
him. He wanted Louis closer still, and he wanted Louis to smell like himself, like grass and football
sweat. Not drugs and weird cologne.

They were silent, and the intimacy was nearly overpowering. Louis’ hands touched Harry’s face. It
was all Harry had wanted for the last couple of weeks. Longing and desire tried to grip his hands
and grab him, but he couldn’t. Most of him were preoccupied, in awe of what Louis was doing right
now, fingers light and oddly careful.

“Time’s it?”

Harry glanced at the clock. He didn’t want to do it, because he didn’t want to leave Louis’ eyes. A
loud cheer ringing through the house freed him from the task.

“Twelve,” he whispered.

“Happy New Year, Harold.”

Louis pressed his lips against Harry’s.

Harry’s heart stopped beating, if just for a second.

His breath was gone, but he didn’t care. Louis’ mouth was on his, and he felt all of his body melt.
The tables were turned, and this time Harry was trembling under Louis. He could kiss him for the
rest of the night.

Louis’ lips slipped away after only a moment. He leaned back, sitting on Harry’s thighs. His thumb
pressed softly against Harry’s bottom lip, and that pure second felt like forever.

As soon as Louis began to leave, Harry wanted him back. He watched him, dying to grab his arm
and keep him there, to put his fingers back on his lips, to kiss them, to taste them. But it wasn’t
long until Louis was gone, leaving Harry alone in the crystal-clear bathtub realm, knowing with
certainty that breaking it off with Louis if required was going to be harder than he’d ever thought.
 Chapter 8

The night before school started again was when the anxiety really came back. Harry wanted to get
back to school because he missed football, and the presence of his parents was at times
overwhelmingly stressful, but as he lay in bed the night before actually going back, he found
himself restlessly considering it. While football training awaited, he wasn’t ready to return to
worrying about Jasmine. She still gnawed at him. Her threats had scarred him, whether or not she
was actually going to do something about it after all this time. The night was dragging on, and
Harry couldn’t sleep. He’d gone to bed at eleven, and yet by one o’clock, he was still staring at the
dark ceiling above him. He resented it. He hated the feeling of drowning on dry land.

Naturally, he came to mind. He wanted to call him. He wanted to run away and hide in Louis’
room, just like he had so many times before. This time, though, he remembered Louis’ answer on
New Year’s Eve. He recalled his whispered “yeah”. He had felt his understanding, and Louis had
kissed him in a manner that suggested he was there to comfort him. Harry truly needed that aid, but
perhaps he was too clingy, too sad, and too emotional. Maybe he was too annoying? He hesitated to
call him. What if he said no?

Eventually, the ache in his chest became too much, and he picked up his phone.

“What?” came a sleep-broken voice after seven rings.

“Can I come over?” whispered Harry. “Please.”

The phone was silent for a few seconds. Then, a short “Fine.” There was a click and suddenly the
call was over. It took Harry a moment to realise that Louis had said yes, and he was now free to go.
He could go over to Louis’. He could actually run away.

He had never been so quick to dress. He got up, pulled some training joggers on along with a
hoodie, and then draped his winter jacket over it. He crept down the hallway, silently making his
way downstairs and into the hallway. His parents were sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake them
up. He grabbed his keys downstairs and then briskly closed the front door behind him. He omitted
the Rover, scared his parents would freak out if they noticed it was gone, or that the noise of the
engine would wake them up.

It took seven minutes to jog the distance. The street lamps were the only refuge in the eerie
darkness, and the wind blew cold, but none of that mattered. The destination conquered the journey
by a landslide. The house was dark once he got there, and he fiercely hoped Louis hadn’t fallen
back asleep again. Outside, he texted that he’d arrived and waited impatiently on the porch. The
door slid open slowly, a minute or so later.

“Hi.” Louis’ voice was hoarse. His hair was a mad haystack.

“Hey.”

His eyes were barely open and there was a sleep-drunken frown on his face. “Why are you up at
one AM? It’s school tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Louis moved from the threshold and Harry followed him inside. In the hallway, he slipped out of
his shoes and picked them up, just like he had done before. It was different this time, though. Louis
had kissed him on New Year’s and now allowed him to walk into his house in the middle of the
night. Harry watched Louis, wondering whether he was aware of the same difference. The boy was
in pyjama bottoms, and a dark, long-sleeved shirt. He looked soft.

They walked up to Louis’ room in silence, jumping over the creaky step. Once there, Louis closed
the door and promptly slipped into the bed, his back turned. Harry put his belongings down, his
jacket and shoes lightly landing on the floor. He hadn’t exactly expected them to have sex —
hadn’t prepared for it — but he didn’t quite know what to do when Louis wordlessly curled up
under the duvet. He slowly tugged off his trousers and shirt, and carefully walked around the bed.
He slid in underneath the cover, feeling Louis’ scent and his comforting sheets wrap around him
pleasantly. His head hit the pillow only inches from Louis’ face. His eyelashes looked very long,
and his hair poked out in all directions, like a small hedgehog. Harry felt his bones sink into the
mattress with relief.

“You look like a baby hedgehog,” he mumbled.

“Sleep.” Louis didn’t move a muscle on his face when his cold feet pressed into Harry’s calves and
his palm covered his eyes. The toes were icy, but the instant dark from his hand made Harry
instantly sleepy, and he couldn’t bring himself to complain. It took only seconds before he fell
asleep, body finally at ease, and his breathing easy next to Louis.

The alarm that awoke them felt too early. Louis sat up as though leaping from a nightmare,
meanwhile, Harry sluggishly opened his eyes, a drowsy state still enveloping him. He hadn’t slept
as soundly in weeks. Louis smelled good, and his arms and legs had touched Harry’s repeatedly
through the night. The scent of the pillows, apple and strawberry combined, still clouded Harry’s
senses as he sat up, coming awake.

Louis, leaning on his left arm, glanced over at him. His shoulder was very close to Harry’s chest,
and he could easily have tugged him in to hold.

“Sleep well?” murmured Louis, words low and nearly indecipherable. Harry heard them, though.

“Never better,” he answered, surprising himself by being so honest. They sat there for a second,
feeling in the morning. Harry rubbed his eyes clean from grime, inching a fraction closer. “Will
you give me a ride to school?” he asked.

Louis shoved him away, but not too firmly. “Not a chance. I have to drive Lottie, so you need to
leave before she wakes up.”

Harry fell back on the bed, squeezing the duvet closer again. Right. Four sisters. He didn’t want to
leave yet. “I don’t want to. I have to walk home and get my car.”

“You need a change of clothes, too.”

“Can I borrow yours?”

“They wouldn’t even fit! You’d stretch them.”

“I wouldn’t!” He untangled himself from the duvet, eager to prove it. He walked up to the chest of
drawers against the nearest wall, ignored the hot gaze he felt on his back, and opened a drawer.
Louis was bound to have something that fit him. There were shirts in there, mostly tees and one or
another long-sleeved shirt, and a couple of crewnecks. He heard Louis groan pathetically behind
him as he inspected his clothes.
“Stop ruining my drawers!”

“Stop whining.” He found a blue button-down, eyeing it carefully. “Hey, this one will fit.”

Surprisingly, Louis didn’t object despite his prior wails. “Fine,” he sighed, “but wash it after.”

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, Mum.” He pulled the shirt on. It smelled good, clean. It wrapped
around his chest and arms perfectly. He liked it. “I need pants.”

“You’re not allowed to borrow my trousers.”

Harry glanced into the second drawer. There was a soft pair of trousers, which he grabbed. “I think
these’ll fit.”

“Those are mine!” Louis ripped them from his hand, and Harry squinted at him, but couldn’t help
but notice that Louis had started to undress. His chest was bare, and he was stepping out of his
pyjama bottoms. He was soft and muscular, and incredibly sexy just standing there in an empty
bedroom. All alone with Harry. “Stop looking,” hissed Louis venomously.

“You’re getting all naked in front of me. It’s unfair to tell me I can’t look.” Harry’s heart was
beating a little bit faster. It was also very unrealistic of Louis to expect anything else from him.
Hadn’t he noticed the effect his body had on Harry? Hadn’t he understood that each time he got
naked Harry wanted him all over himself?

“My body, my rules.”

Harry shrugged. “Fine. I’ll just close my eyes and picture you naked instead.”

“You need therapy.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Not wrong. “You need to tame your hair.” It was a beehive. A very
attractive one, but probably not appropriate for school.

Louis huffed and left the room after a quick glance in the mirror, walking into the adjoining
bathroom. Harry inhaled, and exhaled heavily. He picked out a pair of jeans from the drawer that
seemed to fit somewhat. As he dragged them up his legs, he couldn’t help but look back at the bed
in the middle of the room. He felt warmth simmer in his chest. He felt grateful, and even…
marginally happy. Louis had let him sleep next to him, and without other intentions, even. It was
kind of nice. Just a decent thing. However, Harry also missed the feeling of Louis against him
when there were intentions involved.

He walked into the bathroom, finding Louis at the sink. His back was facing Harry, his neck
visible over the top seam of a t-shirt. Harry positioned himself behind him, pressing his chest
lightly into his back. Louis heaved indignantly, but he didn’t move away. Harry opened the
cupboard behind the mirror, pretending to look for toothpaste but really revelling in the sensation
of Louis’ body against his.

“Is this your toothbrush?” he asked against Louis’ ear, letting his lips touch the side of his face.

“Yes, why — no!”

Louis being who he was — feisty and easy to provoke — ensured that Harry ultimately got what he
wanted; the two of them against each other. Louis refused to let him have his toothbrush, and Harry
took advantage of his eagerness to wrestle for it. With Louis on the floor under himself, he wanted
nothing more than to feel that same, heavenly feeling on his lips that he’d felt on New Year’s Eve.
“What was that?” he asked, after Louis had in an oddly deft manner used his mouth to remove the
toothbrush from Harry’s lips.

He looked unsure. “I honestly don’t know.”

Harry’s heart beat harder. “Do you want some toothpaste with that?”

“What?”

He leaned in and pressed his mouth against Louis’. He ignored how his stomach fluttered up a
storm as Louis’ fingers easily landed on his hips and squeezed intimately around his sides. Louis’
hands were firm, but not hard. Harry’s breath stuttered, and frightened by his own forwardness he
was about to let go. But then Louis’ lips parted and moved into Harry’s with a calm sort of
intensity. Harry’s stomach flip-flopped, and his arms felt shaky and uncontrollable, but the kiss
turned languid. Louis was kissing him back, and it took Harry minutes before he realised that there
was indeed toothpaste foam dripping down his lips and chin.

He didn’t mind it, because on the floor, on a purple little rug, Harry got to kiss Louis again. It
wasn’t hurried, or caught in a time-snag, or to comfort. It was just good.

Since that morning, the first day of school, Harry didn’t need to make a choice. Louis constantly
made that decision for him. He waited for Louis to say something. He waited for him to do
something that would prove that Zayn was right.

However, it was like something had happened over Christmas break. Since New Year’s Eve, or
since the kiss that evening on the street, Louis did nothing that exhibited any sort of proof of
Zayn’s statement. Harry looked for it, actively. He double-checked Louis’ words for any hidden
acidity. He went through conversations in his mind, in hindsight attempting to detect what he might
have disregarded the first time. Louis was spirited and high-strung, of course, but as Harry awaited
the genuine insults, they never came. Furthermore, even the random defamatory snides faded,
slowly and steadily.

Furthermore, when Louis didn’t randomly offend Harry very often, it was that much easier to
forget how badly they’d treated each other over the past years. Certainly, Harry still had the
memories. He thoroughly disliked them, but when he felt Louis’ warm hand brush silently over his
arm, or when his fringe tickled his neck during sex, it was entirely impossible to remember the hurt
the memories had impaled him with at the time.

Knowing how well he slept in Louis’ bed in comparison to his own made it that much harder to
stay at home every night. Being well aware that Louis actually allowed him to come over made it
so simple. Several nights a week over the next month, Harry snuck out of his room, jogged to
Louis’ house, and traipsed upstairs to his room. He would slide underneath the covers, breathe in
the scent, and fall asleep within moments.

“See you tonight,” said Louis one early Tuesday morning, before he attempted to slam the front
door shut in front of Harry’s nose. Harry hadn’t asked to come over that night, and upon hearing
Louis say it, as though it had become an ordinary habit, Harry felt his stomach drop completely.
His foot moved out and stopped the door from closing.

Louis glanced up at him through his fringe, eyes squinted like he wondered what it was now.
“Styles.”

Harry had to keep his fingers from sliding into the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck. It would’ve been
so easy, bringing Louis’ face to his and lightly pushing their lips together. Louis would’ve exhaled
and his stomach would have slotted perfectly against Harry’s.

Kissing Louis was consistently effortless. It was amazing, actually. Louis was good at it. He knew
where to put his hands, where to place them on Harry’s shoulders, on his back, his face, and
especially in his hair. He knew when teeth were welcomed and when to let his lips do it all for
him. Harry melted each time Louis gave into his desires, but when Louis made the first move…
There was just something about the way Louis looked when he initiated any kind of sweetness.
Every time he wanted Harry, every time he asked for it. It was revitalising.

Their gaze broke as Harry looked down. He wanted to kiss him, but didn’t dare do it. They didn’t
usually kiss when sex wasn’t expected, especially not on Louis’ porch.

“See you later,” Harry whispered, biting his lip as he turned. He couldn’t help glancing over his
shoulder when he didn’t hear the door close. Doing so, he once again met Louis’ fixed stare.
“Bye,” mouthed Harry, and the little, little smile that snuck onto Louis’ face before he shut the
door made Harry’s whole body leap on the inside.

For a second, he wondered if he had imagined it. He couldn’t believe that Louis was aiming that
wildly and breathlessly attractive, mischievous smile his way. Walking home he couldn’t control
the erratic flutter in the middle of his chest.

Every day, Louis was giving him more and more reasons not to end it. In the back of his mind, he
wondered whether he was just waiting for disaster, as Zayn had implied. How could so much have
changed in just a few months? He used to detest Louis Tomlinson. The guy used to drive him
insane. Now, Harry couldn’t stop hoping that he would kiss him, at any given moment.

In the middle of January, Coach Abrahams tugged Harry aside during football practice. It was
raining, and Harry was watching the way Louis’ fringe kept sticking to his eyebrows as the group
of lads was passing balls in triangles.

“Styles, I’m talking to you.”

“Oh.” He startled, slightly embarrassed. The bleachers were empty, as none of the students had
braved the rain to watch the team practice after school, and Harry followed Coach into the
substitute cubicle next to the pitch, brushing waterdrops off his face. Coach sat down and Harry
placed himself by his side. Coach Abrahams was holding an iPad, and was scrolling through some
kind of folder. He went on until Harry noticed his own name on the top of a page.

“So,” said Coach as the smatter of rain atop the cubicle made its presence obvious. “How do you
feel today? All good?”

“Pretty good, I suppose.” His parents had fought that morning, and his mum had asked him if he’d
been out late the night before, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “You?”
he asked.

“Good, lad,” nodded Coach. “Are you ready for academy talk?”

Harry inhaled, instantly nervous. “Okay.”

The iPad was shown to Harry. “These are the academies that are interested in signing you.”
Harry’s eyes scanned the page. Richmond. Nottingham Forest. Chelsea. Manchester United. His
heart beat faster. He opened his mouth, but Coach raised his finger.

“These have expressed an interest. As you know, they have their own academies with kids who’ve
been playing for them since they could barely spell the word ‘academy’. Nonetheless, they are
always looking for extra talent. Outside players to join their youth teams aren’t their top priority,
and their kids always come first, though.”

Harry nodded. He knew this. Coach was trying to knock his excitement down a notch, to a
reasonable level.

“But, as you know, we’ve had a couple of lads that have gone on to play for some decent clubs. It
isn’t impossible, and it definitely isn’t impossible for you.”

“What did United say about me?” asked Harry, eager.

“Not much. They will surely decide whether to offer anything once the championship play-offs
begin.” He scrolled down his page. “Peter down at Chelsea called me yesterday. They can’t see
any of their own academy players being ready to move up this year, or even for the next preseason.
They don’t want to buy new academy players, because they’ll spend plenty in the transfers window
for the A-team.”

“Okay?”

Coach grinned, his sun-worn face proud and delighted as he said, pushing his gloved hand into
Harry’s shoulder, “Since you’ve got no cost, son, they’ve invited you to come down in a few
weeks’ time.”

Harry gaped. “To do what?”

“Check out the complex and the pitch! See the training grounds and facilities. Let you feel in the
locker room!”

Harry couldn’t believe it. His heart wasn’t even racing because it seemed so absurd. “Why?” he
whispered.

Coach shook his head. “Boy! If everything goes well during the championship, they’ll want you to
come down as soon as you graduate.”

Harry’s breath shook. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“Not one bit, son.”

A laugh escaped his throat. It was a weird noise, but it was full of elation and relief. Chelsea
wasn’t what he’d always dreamt of, but he had dreamt of leaving Doncaster behind for months and
months at a time.

“Have I really been doing that well?” he asked, voice shaking.

“Harry,” said Coach. “I knew from the first time I saw you play that one day you’d be making us
proud. Whether in Championship or Premier League, I still believe it.”

A thought crossed his mind. “Then why didn’t you make me captain? I mean, alone.”

Coach glanced over at the pitch. Louis was taking the piss out of the defence now, giving his
teammates a solid lesson in humility. He shrugged. “This team hasn’t worked well since last year.
You boys play well, but there is something missing. I thought it might be the two of you that
needed to get your heads together.”

Harry kept his eyes on Louis, a strange, angsty feeling speeding through his body. “Is he going to
visit any academies?”

“I shouldn’t tell you,” said Coach. “A few of these boys want to play professionally, on some
level.”

“He only wants Manchester, though.”

“Manchester hasn’t called anyone, Harry. You needn’t worry that they’re considering anyone over
you.”

“Way to boost my ego.”

“You’re a good kid, Harry.”

“You’re a good coach. Seriously,” he said, staring at the man who had yelled at him from the side-
lines of the pitch for the past three and half years. “Thank you for helping me.”

“I’m helping all of you, but you are most welcome.”

Harry soared through the rest of the practice. If he continued to play well, it was more or less a
sure thing that he’d play for an academy the following year. It wasn’t Manchester, but it would do.
He had to get out of Doncaster. It was only a question of how and when. If Chelsea was the
answer, then it was the answer.

January was the month Harry hadn’t expected. He hadn’t foreseen how easily it would fly by. He
had never expected that he would lay next to Louis in the morning, go to school, adore every single
second of football practice without worry, and then head back over to Louis’ house late in the
night. January was full of football, sex, and rest. He hadn’t felt so at ease since the summer. It was
awfully addicting, all of it. It scared him almost, how well things were going.

He noticed it for the first time in late January, when Jasmine strode past him in a relatively empty
hallway. He almost cringed, but she didn’t move a muscle in his direction. She didn’t look up,
didn’t flinch, or seem to even be bothered. It was different, and Harry realised in shock that
Jasmine hadn’t tried to contact him since before the holidays.

January was bliss. Until the last week.

“Harry.”

He had just stridden into the living room of his house. He’d come directly from football practice,
and his clothes were sweaty under his jacket. He was about to head up and shower, wanting to get
extra clean before going over to Louis’ house later. He’d been imagining Louis’ mouth at the back
of his neck and his hands rubbing his hips the entire car ride home.

He found his parents at the dining table when he strode in. There were three cups of coffee on the
table and biscuits on a plate.

“Why don’t you sit down.” It wasn’t a question.

Harry silently put his training bag down on the floor and approached the table. His parents looked
very stern. It wasn’t often he was reprimanded, but he wasn’t exactly sure what it was he’d done
that warranted some kind of intervention.

“I saw you leaving the house last night,” said Harry’s father. “It was very late and you didn’t come
home until this morning.”

Harry stiffened. Fuck. He swallowed. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters that you spent the entire night out. Your father tried to see where you went off to, but
you were gone! On foot, in the dark!” His mother looked angrier than he had seen her in a long
time. “Harry, what if something would’ve happened to you? You can’t just leave the house like
that, you’re just a kid.”

“It’s not like I was outside the whole night. I have friends.”

“What friend’s parents let you sleep over in the middle of the week?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, voice harder this time.

His mother’s eyes were tough. “Harry, I want you to know that what you did yesterday was not
okay. You’re not to do that ever again. You are to sleep at home unless you ask permission.”

Anger seemed to overcome him with a rapid force. “Why does it matter where I sleep? It doesn’t
make any freaking difference. It’s not like you’ve noticed that this isn’t the first time!”

“Harry!” she gasped.

His father shook his head, looking tired. “Harry, it is important that we know where you are. Just
like you need to know where we are in case you need anything.”

“Because the two of you are home so much? Because you always tell me where you are?” he
retorted spitefully. His parents stared at him, and he shrugged. “Why should I be forced to stay in
this house when there is none other than Dusty around here?”

The room was silent for a short moment. When his mother spoke, her voice was softer. “Where
have you been?”

“Zayn’s.”

His father seemed to accept his lie, but his mother didn’t look as easily fooled. “Harry, if you are
dating someone, I think it is important that we know of it,” she said.

He swallowed. “Okay, and what if I am? What are you going to do about it?”

“Well, I would need to talk to her parents. Having you sleep at a girl’s house without my
knowledge is… You are much too young.”

He couldn’t pretend that the fact that she said “girl” wasn’t painful.

“Mum, I’m not a child.”

“It is true you are of age to… consent, but it doesn’t mean that you can do anything you want as
long as you are living under this roof. We need to know whom you’re seeing, at the very least.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose on his forehead, his voice incredulous as he said, “Are you saying you need
to approve of whom I’m dating?”
“Of course not,” his father sighed, “but your mother would like to know what is going on with
you.”

What if it’s a guy? he wanted to ask. What if he was fucking a bloke? Would it be so simple then?

“Harry, just tell us.”

“No,” he said blankly.

“Harry. Now.”

He shook his head. Blood was pounding against his temples, and his cheeks felt red. “No.”

“Listen to me. Now, Harry.” His mother’s hand grasped around his arm. She looked a little
breathless, the anger taking over her voice more and more. “This isn’t a joke. If you do not tell me
now, you are grounded. You will not touch your laptop, your phone, or your car. You won’t go to
extracurriculars after school, and you will not see that girlfriend of yours.”

It was odd, but Harry had never felt so instantly levelled. It almost scared him how quickly his
mind changed from blank rage to a stillness that resembled indifference. He felt so suddenly
detached from his mother. She was trying to take everything he cared about, and it was fine. She
could take the phone, the games, and the car. Football, however, or Louis, those were things he
refused to hand over.

He didn’t remove his gaze from hers as he reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said. He placed the
car key on the table next to his phone. “Have them.”

Her hand left his arm, but she didn’t take the things. His father sighed, again. “All right. Let’s
order some dinner and forget about this.”

“I’m not staying here.”

“Harry, enough.” Even his father’s voice was hard now. “You’ve decided which road you want to
take through this. Now, we move on.”

Harry stood up. “She wants to control everything, and you don’t care about anything. How am I
supposed to take this?” He turned around and headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“Zayn’s!” he yelled.

The following week was depressing. Harry came home the evening after the fight, and though his
car keys and phone had been placed atop his school bag, Harry refused to touch them. He
wondered if one of his parents had received a stroke of guilt and returned them, and in that case, it
was probably his father. His mother was still upset. Each time he left the house, her gaze was
following him down the road, and every time he came back home, she was waiting for him. She
seemed to refuse to leave the house, perpetually checking when he came and went. It was
exhausting.

“Stop trying to control me,” he told her once.

“Just tell me who the girl is, Harry,” she retorted. “I don’t understand why you must hide it.”
Because I’m gay, he wanted to scream at her. Didn’t she realise how much it hurt, not being able to
give her an answer that she’d like?

Sometimes he wanted her to feel the same pain, because maybe then she’d stop asking him to be
something he wasn’t. Slowly, he realised that a small portion of the indifference he had felt that
afternoon of the fight still existed inside him. Sometimes he wanted to tell the truth just to shock
her. Sometimes he thought it would be more satisfactory to tell her simply to hurt her, rather than
actually being free of the secrets.

Two days after the family discussion, he took his phone back. He needed it in order to talk to
Louis, and when he would be heading down to Chelsea it was vital. He left the car keys alone,
though. He didn’t need their bribery.

After football one day, Liam saw him walking along the pavement, heading home. Louis was
already gone, having sped off with a bit of haste, and Harry had popped his earphones in, listing to
a footie podcast as he walked. Liam pulled up alongside the curb in his grey MINI Cooper. “No
Rover today?”

“Um… oil change,” Harry lied.

“Need a ride?”

“Sure,” he agreed, and Liam slung the door open. Harry settled in as they sped down the street.
The car smelled fresh, but faintly sweet. There was a large hair clip sitting in the cupholder, and a
pair of small sneakers rested on the floor in the front seat. Liam’s football gear was on the floor in
the back.

“Sorry,” he murmured as Harry gently moved the sneakers to fit his feet on the floor. “Soph’s.”

“S’fine.” Harry glanced around the car briefly, a little intrigued by the traces of her around them.
There were little signs of their relationship here and there. “Things all right with you two?”

“It’s pretty good, actually?” He sounded a little surprised, but delighted nonetheless. “I didn’t think
we’d ever get together after all this time, you know? But here we are.”

Harry smiled. “Have you liked her for a long time then?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think I love her already, and we’ve hardly been together six months.” He shook
his head, chuckling.

Harry didn’t know Liam that well, but he was easy to talk to. Somehow, he expected Liam to be
genuine, even though he’d personally lied only a few minutes ago. Liam was simply good like that.
Maybe it was why everyone liked him so much.

“Does she love you, too?” Harry asked, his smile fading as something odd gurgled in his stomach.

The grin on Liam’s mouth reached all over his face, even broadcasted in his thick brows. “She told
me a week ago. How crazy is that?”

“Not crazy. Sweet,” he replied determinedly. “Are you happy?”

“It’s kind of… What is being happy, you know? How can you know what that really is? But I
think, yeah.”

Harry’s lip pulled, but a frown crept onto his face as they drove in quiet. The silence wasn’t
awkward, it just was. Liam seemed to be easy in that way, too.

“What about you?” His eyes treaded over Harry’s face for a second before returning to the road.
“You’ve seemed a bit more… I hope you don’t mind me saying it, but I’ve gotten the impression
you’ve been a bit down over the last few months. But since Christmas, you seem a little bit better.”

Harry inhaled, the drag of breath shaky and weird. He tried to say something, but nothing came out.

“Oh, shit,” Liam panicked, voice a little higher. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you
uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” he pressed out.

“I get it, you have Zayn and all. But… I don’t mind if you want to talk.”

Harry swallowed, hard. “Thanks, mate. You’re… kind of great.”

Liam smiled, but it was brief. “You okay, though?”

“I’m dealing with it.”

“All right. Let me know if you need any help with that. We’re here.”

Harry met Coach Abrahams at the train station in Doncaster on a Tuesday morning. When Coach
asked whether his parents couldn’t join them or if something had come up, Harry shrugged,
explaining it away. It took two hours to get to London, and as they went Coach explained further
details about the club. He mentioned the possible wages briefly in passing, and though it wouldn’t
be much, it did make Harry feel as if he were on a different planet. Football seemed to bring him
into another realm of life.

Naturally, everything at Chelsea was amazing. They met a man called Peter McCormack, who
worked with club relations. He showed Harry the complex he would stay in, the absolutely pristine
gym where physiotherapists and trainers worked, and the practice pitch that was much nicer than
Donny High’s match pitch. Then, of course, they drove over to the stadium. It was impressive, and
Harry felt breathless. Mr. McCormack and Coach Abrahams laughed as they saw his eyes go wide
as they strode into Stamford Bridge. The grass was soft, green, and smooth (not to be touched, of
course, save for match nights). The stadium was large and almost intimidating.

This was what he had dreamt of since he was a child. The only thing that felt wrong was that the
colour that lingered around them was blue, not red.

“I love it,” he said. “It’s stunning.”

“You’ll love it more when you’re here,” said Mr. McCormack, as though it were a set thing.

They ended back in Doncaster before the last period. Harry gave Coach Abrahams a handshake,
but in truth, he wanted to give him a hug, really. The day had been special.

The last period of school was fast and breezy. Harry walked on clouds. He met Zayn behind the
gym and shook his shoulders frantically as he told him how incredible everything was at Chelsea.
Zayn shook his head at his dramatics, but told him very proudly how happy he was for him. He
hugged him painfully hard, too.
Football practice went by smoothly. Louis was in charge, but he seemed in a good mood. His
exercises were thought out and would work well with the ideas Harry had for the following day’s
session. Harry briefly wondered if Louis would be up for snogging on the grass pitch tonight. They
could sneak out late, lie down, and feel the crisp, scent of winter grass envelop them, the cold
seeping in through their jackets, but let the glowing fire in their bodies keep them warm.

At the end of practice, Harry was playing a simple kick-around with Lee and Ed, the three of them
chatting and laughing quietly. They kept the ball off the ground, passing it in the air in different
manners. Lee used his knee to send it in Ed’s direction. Harry received the ball next, against his
chest, bringing it down, and tapping the ball on his toes a couple of times before he shot it high up
in the air towards Lee. Then, he felt a searing pain in the back of his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he swore, realising with a grimace that a football had struck him in the back. Lee pointed
behind him, and Harry slowly turned around looking for whatever teammate had hit him. He
noticed what Lee was indicating, taking it in bit by bit. Across the pitch stood Louis. His face was
taut in a deep frown. He was obviously guilty.

“What the fuck?” Harry called. He rubbed his shoulder, but the confusion was more painful than
the blow. Louis raised his hand across the pitch, showcasing two fingers in the air.

Harry swallowed, unable to pretend he wasn’t hurt. At first, he didn’t want to acknowledge it, but
Louis’ action surprised him quite deeply. It had been a long time since Louis randomly attacked
him, verbally or otherwise. He had thought… Well, he’d thought that Louis had stopped being like
that.

Harry needed an explanation. He didn’t like the confusion and sudden angst within. He left the
pitch, grabbing his belongings as the rest of the boys were finishing up. Louis was striding down
towards the parking lot, and Harry followed briskly. Once he caught up, he called after him loudly.

“Why did you shoot at me?”

Did he somehow know about Chelsea? Harry doubted it. And why would that piss him off
anyhow?

“Felt like it.”

“Idiot,” retorted Harry, but the insult felt uncomfortable on his tongue.

“Fuck you.”

Harry stopped, trying vehemently to disregard the pain in his chest. “What’s wrong with you?”

Louis’ eyes were dark. “Fuck you, that’s all.” He began to walk away again.

Harry’s face hardened with various emotions. “Ditto.”

He stopped at that. On his face, some of the fury dissipated. “Who the fuck says ‘ditto’?” he asked,
bewildered.

Harry despised the way Louis changed the subject. He hated that Louis thought he could do or say
anything he wanted, and then pretend like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t hurt Harry’s feelings.
Right now, he needed to get away from him. He didn’t want to hear his voice, because he didn’t
want Louis to screw his day any more than he already had. He began to leave, hiking down the
parking lot towards the shortcut that would bring him home. Fuck this.
Louis interrupted him, of course.

“Wait,” he yelled. “Are you walking?”

“Yes,” he bit out through gritted teeth. His car was parked in the driveway at home. What was it to
Louis anyway?

“What the fuck. Why?”

“I like walking!”

Shut up, he yearned to say. Just shut up. He didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to feel the
annoying freaking feeling that was crawling up his throat and onto his face. He didn’t want to feel
like this. He didn’t want those words from Louis’ mouth to burn so hotly. Last autumn they
wouldn’t have. The past three years they’d basically bounced off his skin in a minute. January had
been bliss, but what did it matter now?

He was walking away when he heard Louis’ voice ask, “Do you need a ride?”

Harry’s feet stopped on their own. He stared at the ground. Why, when Louis’ actions seemed so
devastating, did he still prefer to be with him than alone?

“C’mon. I’ll give you a ride, Harry.” It sounded almost like Louis didn’t want him to walk away.

“I don’t want to hear your voice.” Because I have no idea what your words will make me feel
anymore.

Louis’ reply came after a couple of seconds, and he almost sounded honest when he said, “Fair
enough.” It made Harry wonder if Louis regretted what he did, or if it didn’t mean anything at all.

The car ride was silent, thankfully. Louis drove, and Harry stared out the window. He wanted to
look at Louis, to ask him why the hell he was such an arsehole all of a sudden. He knew he
wouldn’t get any answers, so he kept his eyes away. As they drove, he didn’t need to look around
to know that there were no signs of him in Louis’ car.

“So, your parents are home,” he said once they arrived at Harry’s house.

Harry almost groaned. His mother’s silver car was in the driveway, of fucking course, and he was
certain she would be inside, expecting him like she had been all week. He hated it. He hated that
she couldn’t let it go, and he hated that Louis had ruined his perfect day. He detested the fact
Louis’ actions hurt him. They hadn’t used to.

Harry glanced over at Louis, who was staring back at him. His eyes were questioning, brows raised
slightly. He looked puzzled, like he couldn’t possibly know why Harry was in a mood. Harry
turned his chin away and ripped the car door open. Slow-burnt anger seemed to control him, like
he had an extra personality that made decisions when he was mad. He walked around the vehicle
and opened Louis’ door. He waited for him to get out, and Louis did so tentatively, clearly
confused.

He wanted to yell at him. He wanted to ask him what the hell his problem was. Why he could go
from nodding at Harry in practice with eyes full of charm to assaulting him with a football, in a
matter of an hour. The words tangled on his tongue. He didn’t know how to get them out.
Meanwhile, Louis stood there quietly, his gaze still full of questions.

“Ditto,” said Harry instead.

Louis’ nose scrunched. “Ditto?”

“I say ditto.”

He shook his head. “Don’t say ditto.”

“Ditto.”

“Stop,” he complained.

“It sounds like dildo.”

“No.”

“Ditto.”

“Harry —”

“Ditto.”

Louis looked pissed. “Don’t fucking say ditto.”

Harry’s teeth gritted. “Ditto.”

“You just said — oh, my God. This conversation doesn’t make any sense!” Louis’ hand crept
through his caramel hair, and he exhaled exasperatedly, looking around them as though unsure of
where to settle his gaze. The annoyance was still abloom in his eyes, but his face was impossibly
gorgeous. The boy was standing in his footie shorts and a jumper. His hair was feathery, and Harry
knew how soft it felt through his fingers. Louis’ nose was straight, and his cheekbones were high.
On his forehead, there were fine, confused, and tired lines. His eyes were very, very blue.

Harry wanted to scream. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Did he think he could spend a
month sleeping next to Harry, kissing him and touching him, and then simply slam-dunk his face
into the fact that he could hurt him so easily? How could he just stand there, on the pavement,
gorgeous and beautiful, and make Harry fall back into a swirl of desire, when he fifteen minutes
ago made his skin prickle with hurt? God, he hated him. He wanted to smash his face into bits. The
problem was that more than that, he wanted to kiss him. Between the two options, he would
instantaneously choose the second.

Louis’ blue eyes were staring up at the house. Harry followed his eye-line, and noticed that his
mother was positioned at the window. Her hair was in a bun on her head, and her eyes were trained
on them. She looked tense, and Harry felt the anger in his chest tangle around that white shard of
indifference that had erupted some time ago. He wanted to hurt her. He wanted her to feel what she
made him feel daily.

Later on, it would embarrass him knowing that that was what drove him to his next actions. He
couldn’t deny, though, that the clear and honest truth was that so was the case.

Harry turned to Louis. He looked unfocused and unassuming, for once. He looked terribly pretty
doing so. Harry’s hand, steered by whatever turmoil that was unravelling within him, closed
around Louis’ neck. It fit there perfectly. He then pulled Louis in close, and pressed his mouth to
his.

He didn’t move away, but his body felt rigid against him. Nevertheless, he followed Harry’s
movements until his back hit the car. “What are you doing?” whispered Louis against Harry’s lips.
“Your mum.”

Harry didn’t know, but he wasn’t planning on stopping what his hand had already begun. “Don’t
worry.”

It wasn’t like his mother knew who Louis was. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone that Louis
Tomlinson had been kissing Harry Styles on the pavement outside his house.

Furthermore, Louis’ behaviour was different. It wasn’t often that he acted so tentatively. Harry
kind of liked it. So, he kissed Louis deeper, and Louis never did seem to deny him anything once
they were touching.

Harry pressed himself against him, allowing himself a moment of reprieve from the anger, his body
finding utter relief against Louis’ warmth. Leaning against him, everything felt a little less
substantial. Louis’ hands gripped Harry’s shirt, fists closed around the material at his waist, and
when his hands would brush against Harry’s bare skin he felt only good things. Harry let his hands
hover on Louis’ upper body, aware of his mum standing in the window. It was so easy to focus on
the way Louis’ mouth tasted, though. He could kiss him for hours. He tasted good.

He didn’t want to stop, but he knew he had to eventually. He kissed Louis firmly on the mouth, and
opened his eyes. Louis’ face was right in front of his, and he looked kind of… rosy. Harry’s fingers
clasped his chin, keeping his face there for longer, so he couldn’t turn away and wipe that look off
his face. Because he looked… like Harry was in control and Louis would follow his lead.

It was unsettling.

Harry spun around. He grabbed his bag and strode up the driveway towards the front door. The
closer he got, the more he realised what he had done. In front of who. His heart pounded, quickly.
His stomach turned in on itself.

He opened the front door. His hand shook.

His mother stood in the hallway. Her eyes were wide, and her face was white. Harry’s nightmare
replayed itself again and again in his mind.

“There you’ve got it, Mum,” he said. “That’s the guy.”

 Chapter 9

The tile floor in the bathroom was cold. It felt like ice seeped into Harry’s skin as he pressed his
face to it. It moved like water, pushing its way through in a slow but formidable fashion. The cold
was dense. It made his body heavy, keeping him down against the floor. He wanted to stay there.
The cold made it feel easier not to think in spirals. He inhaled, exhaled. Inhaled, and exhaled.

It was out there, in the open. Louis knew, obviously, and so did Zayn. However, with Harry’s
family, it was another matter entirely. He had never known his family to be homophobic, but he
also knew people reacted differently when it came to their own children. It would indubitably be a
shock either way.

He’d seen his mother’s face when he met her in the hallway. He had walked past her, and he had
regretted every second of what happened on the pavement. How could he have done something so
stupid? He wondered if his mother was calling his father at this very second. Or maybe she was
bombarding Gemma with questions? Maybe she was trying to find out who Louis was? Perhaps
she was still standing downstairs in pure shock.

Harry’s whole face felt like crystal ice. He liked it.

When Zayn arrived and walked into the bathroom, he was quiet. He slid down onto the floor and
pressed his palm onto Harry’s back. The hand was warm, and it made him shiver.

“She was gone when I walked in.”

Okay. Harry inhaled. Exhaled.

“Nobody’s home, mate.”

Okay. Inhale, exhale.

Zayn’s hand rubbed soothingly against his back. Harry could only see his green socks. They had
the Hulk on them. Harry focused on the cold tiles, Zayn’s hand, and the purple trousers that the
Hulk wore.

“She just needs a second to take it in.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re her child. She just needs to adjust her dreams of your future a little bit. She’ll calm down.”

“Uh-huh.”

A few minutes passed. Harry’s head swirled like he was drunk and had just lied down.

“Do you want to hear something funny?”

“No.”

For a few seconds, Zayn was silent. Then he asked, “Do you want some of that molly…?”
 Chapter 10

He wasn’t sure if it had been a good idea, to take the ecstasy. He had done drugs before, but not
often, and he didn’t actually know if he liked it or not. He’d spent the night at Zayn’s house, he
knew that, but he found he couldn’t recall much of the evening. He could account for about half of
the night, he believed. He remembered feeling lighter, remembered Zayn making him laugh, the
two of them sitting on the floor in his bedroom. He remembered not feeling nauseated at the
thought of his mother seeing what she’d seen. He also recalled talking. A lot. He’d talked Zayn’s
ear off. About Louis. About his eyes, his face, and probably how good he looked naked, too. Zayn
promised he hadn’t done or said anything stupid, and forced him to hydrate the whole day after. At
the time it had been a relief to take the molly, but a couple of days later he still got random chills.

He walked back into his house the day after he’d snogged Louis right in front of his mother. She
hadn’t been home. His father was there, but he showed no indication of anything having changed.
Harry had snuck straight to his room and closed the door, heart racing. Gemma hadn’t called,
which meant that she probably hadn’t found out, either. It meant his mother hadn’t told anyone. He
didn’t know if that was good or bad. She definitely hadn’t been home since the day before.

“She’s staying at Lucy’s,” muttered his father when Harry dared to ask another day later.

He didn’t know if he regretted it or not. In a way, it was easier to breathe when he walked into
school. His mother knew he was gay, and so did his best friend. It wouldn’t be as hard if anyone
else found out. He regretted the way he had done it, though. He had wanted to hurt his mother, to
shock her, so he supposed she deserved a couple of days to digest what she’d seen. Nevertheless…
he needed to talk to her about it. Soon. He needed to know what she thought.

Two days before February first, his mother walked into the house. Harry was sitting at the telly,
watching another animal documentary, and his father was in the kitchen. Harry’s heart sprung up
his throat, and he stared, terrified as his mum strode into the room like a woman on a mission. She
was dressed in a beige coat, her nails were done, and her golden bracelet was closed around her
wrist. She held her chin up high.

Harry inhaled. He wished he was back on the cold tiles in his bathroom.

She was carrying a bouquet of flowers. They looked like tulips; a bush of orange and purple
crowns. She also hauled in paper bags full of items. Harry couldn’t tell what they were, and his
father cleared his throat as he poked his head into the living room, standing on the threshold to the
kitchen.

“Hello, darling.”

“Good afternoon, dear.” Her voice was one sweeping chirp.

“What’s happening?”

“We need to plan!”

“For…?”

“Harry’s birthday dinner, of course.”

Harry had forgotten. It was his birthday in only two days. He didn’t blame his dad for forgetting,
because he’d barely remembered it himself.
“Dinner?” he asked quietly. His shoulders were drawn, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

His mum didn’t look at him. “Why, yes.” Her eyes were on the flowers she was settling into a vase.
“The whole family is coming over.”

“Great,” said his father.

“Great,” whispered Harry. She strode about the room, pulling items from bags and organising them
into drawers. She moved from the kitchen and back, and throughout all of it, she didn’t bat an eye
at him.

“Mum?”

“Yes, dear?” She didn’t look away from the set of baking equipment she’d brought out from a
shopping bag.

“Mum,” Harry begged, feeling nausea begin to set it. “Mum, can you look at me?”

Her head slowly turned. He could see her breathe in just as deeply as he’d been doing since she
walked into the house. When her gaze finally settled on his face, he couldn’t read her eyes. They
were empty and full of thoughts he couldn’t understand concurrently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, voice shaking.

“Of course, I am.” Then she turned back and carried on with her business.

Harry looked over at his father. The man shrugged, simply pouting at her odd behaviour. He had
no clue what his wife had seen.

Harry stood and went upstairs to his bathroom. There, he sank down and placed his cheek on the
cold floor.

There. Much better.

Louis Tomlinson had always made a big deal of Harry’s birthday. Harry didn’t usually like it, but
this year he counted on it. He was in the need of a distraction. One time, Louis had made a cake of
crème fraiche and shaving foam, and tricked him into eating it. Another year, he’d spent a full
week harassing him, or “preparing him for the rest of his life as a seventeen-year-old”. It was never
poorly done, the footie team tended to join the fray, and it was the one time each year Louis’
hatred for him didn’t feel entirely loveless. There was effort there.

Harry didn’t want to spend his birthday worrying about the family dinner, or about his mother’s
behaviour. It was painful as it was, waiting and waiting to see whether she’d burst out into a
chaotic mess and kick him out of the house, or take him in his arms and tell him she still loved him.
Neither of those options had happened, and it was exhausting.

“She’ll talk to you soon,” said Zayn the day before Harry’s birthday. “Just give her time.”

Harry tried to accept it, but being inside his house with his mother spinning around in a frenzied
haze was becoming too much.

The night before his birthday, he asked his father if he could sleep at Zayn’s.

His dad squinted at him. “Zayn, eh?”

“Yes, Dad. I promise.”

It was a lie, but his father waved him off anyway. Harry jogged over to Louis’ house in a hurry,
sank into his bed, and wrapped his arms around Louis’ chest.

“Stop it.” He grunted, but didn’t move. “Disgusting.”

Harry breathed in his hair. “You love it. I know that.”

“You’re conceited.”

“I’m just calling it as it is.”

Louis’ body was warm and soft. The room was dark. It had become easy to slip in and out of it. He
knew where the creaky step on the stairs was, and he knew where to find the light switch on the
wall by the door. He knew where the bathroom was, and he knew exactly which pillow Louis
would allow him.

“Can I have your pillow tonight?”

“They are both my pillows.”

“Yours is fluffier.”

Louis made an unintelligible noise. It took a full minute before he ripped the one below Harry’s
head out from under him, and replaced it with the one Harry wanted. He smiled into the darkness,
getting comfortable again. When he closed his eyes, he placed his hand on Louis’ waist.

“Off,” he growled.

Harry hitched a laugh against the pillow, but complied. “Tomorrow.”

“Whatever.”

Harry smiled, still. Even though Louis could be an unbearable arsehole, at night Harry had never
been so grateful for anyone.

He woke up to the sound of raindrops against the window. It was February first, his nineteenth
birthday.

When Gemma had lived at home, Harry always looked forward to it. His mother would bake a
cake, and stride into his bedroom in the morning, singing “Happy Birthday” in a key Harry’s sister
and father could barely keep up with. The year before last, he’d spent his birthday with Jasmine.
She’d presented him with a cupcake at his locker, and then kissed his nose, leaving a mark of red
lipstick on his skin. A month or so later, Harry realised that he didn’t want her to do that anymore.
The memory made him shiver. He could still feel her scent of grapefruit body mist, simply
ruminating.

Louis was warm against him in the bed, though. He was shirtless, pressed against Harry’s side.
Heavy with sleep, and smelling heavenly like last night’s shower. Harry inhaled him instead,
sufficiently demolishing the memories of Jasmine for the time being. He wondered what the day
would bring. He pressed two fingers to Louis’ shoulder, watching the way his index finger looked
against his body. School, and the attention his birthday would probably grant him, was something
he greatly undesired. He closed his eyes, trying to stay in the now, where he could swim in the
feeling of Louis right beside him.
Louis poking him in the side with his finger awoke him a couple of minutes later.

“What?” he muttered, but turned his head into the pillow.

“Wake up. School.”

“I don’t want to go,” he replied truthfully. He pushed Louis’ hand away, wanting to burrow back
into the fluffier pillow. Louis’ hand was annoying, however, persistently attempting to pinch him
awake. Harry bat at his hand, but to no avail. Grunting, Harry crawled on top of him, adequately
shutting him down.

“We have to go to school,” huffed Louis after regaining his breath from underneath him.

“No, we don’t. I’m on you. You can’t move.”

“We have to go to school.”

Why was Louis such a goodie sometimes? Skipping was fine once in a while.

“No,” Harry sighed. “Coach is going to cancel practice ‘cause it’s raining, and there’s no game
tonight.” There was really no reason why they should make themselves miserable at school when it
was Harry’s birthday, and they could be spending the day sleeping and having sex in Louis’
beautiful bed.

“Classes,” was Louis’ counterargument. Not especially convincing.

“Not important. Let’s stay in. Have sex all day.” He made himself more comfortable on top of him,
his groin pressing into his leg. “Your mum works the day shift today,” he said as he leaned closer
to his mouth. “Right, Lou? Your sister will be in school, you’ll be naked, I’ll be naked… Special
day.”

If Louis was trying to deny him sex on his birthday for something as stupid as classes, he really
was a dickhead.

“Harry…” Louis tried, but his voice was void of any actual will.

Harry placed his mouth against Louis’, his hands lightly gripping the back of his neck. His thumbs
dug into the skin just above Louis’ jawline, a heated fire steering his movements. It had been some
time since they really got into it…

“Fuck me.” He felt his body already aflame with want. He pushed Louis down against the mattress,
hands running upwards as they kissed, through Louis’ soft, ruffled hair. Louis moaned, agreeing
and moving his body willingly into Harry’s. That was good. This was what Harry wanted.

Louis’ hands slipped in under Harry’s t-shirt. They were swift and firm, and they made Harry
shiver as they slid across his skin and onto his back. Harry let his lips bite into Louis’ skin, right
below his jaw, body turning to liquid as Louis made small noises of pleasure. When he grabbed
Harry’s wrists, it was sudden. It took the breath out of him, but he liked it. Louis was taking
control, and Harry was much too happy for him to do it. Yes, he thought as Louis rolled them over,
locking Harry down beneath him. Yes, please.

“You like to get bitey, eh,” murmured Louis, and his voice, sleep-ridden and hoarse, breath landing
Harry’s skin, was devastatingly seductive. When Louis actually tried, the result was carnage.

More. More, more, more. Louis’ hands began feeling over Harry’s underwear. He quickly pulled
Harry’s shirt up, but slowly moved his mouth down across his stomach.

More, please. There was a ringing in Harry’s head. All of his senses were focused on one thing:
Louis’ tongue on his lower belly. He wanted this, needed this.

Louis’ mouth was gone. Within an instant. Harry opened his eyes and found Louis’ head turned
away. He was still, frozen. His eyes were looking at the door. Harry glanced over and stilled just
like Louis.

In the doorway, on the threshold, stood a young teenager. She was blonde, with long hair and blue
eyes. Her skin was faintly tan, just like Louis’, and her nails were long and pink. Her hand was
gripping the door handle. Her eyes were trained on the bed.

“Louis. Christ. I didn’t know you were into football players.”

“How long have you been standing there?” asked Louis in a whisper. Harry didn’t dare move a
muscle.

“Long enough,” the girl, Lottie, said.

She didn’t look like Louis. Her face was much rounder, her lips full where Louis’ were thin, and
her eyelids weren’t hooded like his. Something that was exactly the same, though, was the way
their blue eyes looked at that moment. In Louis’ sister’s eyes, there was shock. In Louis’, there was
horror. Her face was pale. She didn’t look quite okay, but Harry saw a difference in her face from
what he’d personally witnessed staring at his mother’s face just a few days before. On Lottie’s face
was a pure surprise. On Harry’s mum’s, there had been fright and panic.

“Oh, well,” Lottie said, voice lighter, and began to back out of the room. “Have fun… I’ll just get
myself to school.”

Louis immediately pushed off Harry and darted towards the hallway as his sister began leaving. He
was out of sight so quickly that Harry could still feel the press of his body on his own. A couple of
seconds later, Harry could hear his voice.

“Lottie, Jesus!”

Harry stared at the ceiling. His heart raced. He certainly hadn’t expected Lottie to simply walk in
while he was getting felt up. She was a teenager, and Louis’ sister, more precisely. And Louis had
been about to do absolutely filthy things to him…

Harry’s heart was slowing down, but it disturbed him he couldn’t hear what was going on in the
hallway. From the look he’d seen on Louis’ face, Lottie hadn’t known that Louis was sleeping with
him, and this was about more than just catching your brother in the act.

Harry sat up and inched towards the edge of the bed. He ran a hand through his curls. Inhale, and
exhale. Inhale, and exhale. He found it was easier to breathe than when his own mother had found
out. He supposed, this girl wasn’t his family, and he had after all just been through a much worse
version of this. Truly, though, Harry had always found that Louis seemed very close with his
family. He very much doubted that Louis’ sister was going to gossip about her own brother’s
sexuality to anyone. Louis appeared to care for his sisters very dearly, and for some reason, Harry
couldn’t see that they didn’t reciprocate the same feelings.

When Louis walked back into the room, he was entirely fazed. His steps were slow, and his eyes
seemed to look at nothing as he flopped down on the bed. He was completely silent. Harry
supposed sex was out of the question.
“So… school then?” he asked.

Louis sprung up, grabbed the nearest pillow, and used it to smack Harry across the face. “Why the
fuck are you not freaking out?” he belted.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the flash of pain. “Ow!”

Louis smacked the pillow on his chest repeatedly. “My — sister — just — caught — us — doing
— stuff!”

Harry grabbed at the pillow, but couldn’t get hold of it. Louis was taking his anger out on him.
Why wasn’t he surprised? It was kind of painful, though, and he didn’t like that Louis was
assaulting him. “Louis, stop!”

The pillow hit him in the shoulder. “Shut up!” said Louis’ agitated voice.

“Stop,” he said, ducking, “making a fuzz! It’s not a big deal. Stop — abusing me!” He moved
away, feeling a shot of anger in his chest. “She’s your sister. She’s not gonna’—” He stood, fed up
with being a moving target for Louis’ uncontrolled frustration. He wrapped his arms around Louis’
body, keeping him under control. “Dammit, she’s not going to say anything. Stop being
overdramatic!” And stop fucking hitting him with a freaking pillow. This wasn’t his bloody fault.

Louis remained still, mostly because Harry’s weight was holding him down. “I’m not overly
dramatic,” he grunted. “I happen to be just the right amount of dramatic for someone in my
situation.” He inhaled, and his next words echoed strangely, like they were rehearsed rather than
genuine. “I’m not even gay, Harry. People can’t know about this!”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at what a ridiculous statement it was. Did Louis really think that he
wasn’t gay, or were those words he had simply told himself so many times that he thought it was
the truth? Either way, it was laughable.

“You’ve fucked me multiple times, and you love my arse. Sure,” he scoffed, “you’re not gay.”

Louis’ voice was a huff. “I do not love your arse.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, matter-of-factly. He gave Louis a little kiss on the forehead, because his
face was right below his, and Louis couldn’t shrink away from it (not to say he didn’t try).
Moreover, Louis looked like he actually required a bit of comfort… It wasn’t like Harry hadn’t had
a massive freak out about his mother just days ago, going through this rather similar thing. Harry
let go of Louis’ body, forcing a little laugh at Louis’ reaction to the kiss. “Now, I’m gonna’ take a
shower, use up all your strawberry shampoo and girly conditioner, put my clothes on, and go to
school.”

“Sod off,” came Louis’ reply.

Harry got up and did what he’d said he was going to. By the time he was finished in the shower,
Louis was gone. Harry slowly got dressed and fixed his hair using Louis’ hairdryer. It was a bit
strange, being alone in someone else’s house, so he hurried. He locked the front door from inside
and walked through the kitchen and out the door that led to the backyard. He closed it carefully
and hiked back around the house. He glanced around, hoping nobody saw him as he half-jogged
through the small driveway to the pavement.

There just happened to be a neighbour standing there. It was an older lady in a morning robe, and
she held a newspaper and a couple of letters. Harry stretched an awkward smile across his face.
“Just, uh, been to feed Louis’… hamster.” What the fuck. “Water the plants? I meant, water the
plants.”

“Sure,” she said, voice breezy. “Tell Louis hi, the next time he sneaks you into his house in the
middle of the night.”

Harry’s feigned smile faded. The neighbour waved, and then turned around and trudged back into
her house. Harry watched her door close, unable to move his legs just yet. Because, what the God
damned fuck? What kind of day was this? How was it that everyone was finding out in a matter of
a couple of days? It seemed highly detrimental.

Harry walked back home swiftly, and on the way, he decided that he was not going to share this
information with Louis. He wasn’t looking to get beaten in the face with anything again.

Just as predicted, his birthday granted unwanted attention from his classmates. He was a fairly
prominent figure for the football team, which meant that people that he didn’t even know came up
and wished him a happy birthday. It was nice that they cared, and that they even remembered, but
if Harry could trade their wishes for getting kissed by Louis again in bed, he would do it.

Louis didn’t show up at homeroom. Harry hoped that he wasn’t freaking out somewhere. Then
again, Harry had also freaked out when his mother found out, and then he had done drugs. It
wasn’t like he could judge. He was a little disappointed, however. He had wanted to spend his day
in bed with Louis, having sex, not worrying about his family, or anything, for that matter.

The second class of the day was sociology, a subject he had chosen last year, not knowing that
Louis would be in it. He was almost happy when he saw Louis walk in just before the teacher
closed the door, relieved that Louis wasn’t hysterical enough to skip the whole day. Furthermore, if
Louis had been skipping school, then Harry would’ve wanted to do it with him. That’s what he’d
wanted since that morning.

Louis didn’t look at him inside the classroom, as per usual. Harry pretended he wasn’t attempting
to gauge Louis’ mood, and instead tried to look happy when some classmate greeted him and
wished him a good day. The class felt slower than normal; all Harry wanted was to catch up with
Louis. When it finally ended, Harry lingered inside the classroom, and finally managed to catch
Louis on his own.

“So?” he asked.

Louis didn’t look happy. He crossed his arms. “She said she wouldn’t say anything.”

“Told you,” Harry said, though he too felt a little bit of relief. Now they could go home and have
sex on the floor. Or in the shower! He smiled, but then received a push against his arm. Louis’ eyes
were yet bristling with disconcertion. “But you’re freaking out,” Harry concluded.

“Of course, I am! She might tell Niall, and I don’t even know what to do if she does —”

“Niall?” asked Harry, a little confused. “As in your best mate? He doesn’t know?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Why would you think that?” His eyes widened. “Have you told people?”

Harry felt his stomach sink as he watched the boy in front of him turn stiff. His eyes were colder,
and there was no sparkle there anymore. “Of course not…” he whispered, anxiety grabbing him by
the throat. He hadn’t realised that to Louis this was all very, very severe.

Louis’ whole body was rigid. He inhaled, and his voice shook as he spoke. “Are you kidding me?”
He was verging on yelling. “Are fucking joking, Styles?”

There was something else in Louis’ eyes Harry didn’t like.

He placed a hand on his waist, wishing to pull him towards himself and hold him still. He wanted
to wash that sudden, ugly crisp from his face. Maybe if Harry could just hold him, then he would
calm down. Please.

Nonetheless, he couldn’t lie to Louis about this. It wasn’t fair. He exhaled, and his heart pounded.

“Don’t freak out,” he said. Please, “but Zayn knows. He found your football at my house.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Mr. Tomlinson,” said the teacher’s voice from her desk. “Language. You two have got two
minutes, then I have to lock up the classroom.”

“Sorry,” muttered Louis, but his eyes were still hard on Harry. “Are you for real? Why didn’t you
just tell him you stole it to mess with me, or something?

“Well, he saw your pants, too…”

“You could have told him they were yours!”

Harry huffed. It hadn’t been exactly that easy, not since Zayn already knew Harry had someone. “It
was a little hard when they had your initials and jersey number printed on them.”

Louis’ frown was still heavy as he ran a hand over his face. His voice was icy. “That’s it, right?
Nobody else knows, yeah?”

“No,” whispered Harry, shaking his head. His chest ached, and he mentally stopped himself from
rubbing it. He didn’t want to hurt Louis by telling people about him. He had just coped the way
he’d needed to. Harry had actually tried to not share Louis’ information, but he just didn’t seem to
have done well enough for his standards.

“Thank fuck!” Louis’ voice was a sigh, but it was still loud, and Harry wanted to walk away. He
didn’t like the way Louis was acting. It was just different, and Harry hadn’t felt this detached from
him in a very long time. Crisis made people do unimagined things, but this Louis was different.
Harry wanted him to go back to being his feisty and warm self. The person that would growl, but
give him the fluffy pillow. Harry didn’t like this cold person in front of him. Louis’ voice, callous
and incredulous, continued, “Cannot believe three people know I’m sleeping with you, you fucking
train wreck.”

It felt like Louis had grabbed a shard of glass and driven it straight through Harry’s heart. The
words penetrated him, staking their way through his skin, through flesh, breaking his ribcage, and
burrowing deeply into his body. There, something began to bleed.

It felt like Harry had waited for something to break him. Like he had known something was
coming eventually. He just hadn’t expected the one person who had been his refuge for the last
couple of months to be the one to do it.

Train wreck.

Zayn knew everything that Harry had been through. He was supportive, and nearly always there
when Harry needed him. However, Louis Tomlinson was the one who had truly comforted him.
Through those last months of pain and exhaustion from everything that kept happening in his life,
Louis had been the one person whom he didn’t need to feel that pain with. Sure, Louis was
offensive and unkind frequently, but the true and honest pain that Harry most days felt had never
come from him.

Right then, standing in the classroom, it did. It was an honest and solid ache that was spreading
throughout him. Harry had been warned that being with Louis could be a mistake. He had felt a
twang of hurt when he’d randomly turned on him a few days before, but it was nothing in
comparison to this. That was silly. Old school archenemy stuff that Harry had used to be able to
brush off with ease. This was more. It was… It felt real. It felt like Louis meant the words. Like he
was speaking clear and pure truth. Harry just hadn’t expected that Louis’ honesty would hurt so
badly.

His hand fell off Louis’ waist. His skin felt frozen. Louis looked up from beneath his fringe, his
mouth open as if to say something more. Go ahead, Harry wanted to say. Say it again. Louis’
mouth closed. Harry’s arms wrapped around his own stomach, needing them to keep his body from
falling into irreparable pieces. His voice was something he couldn’t recognise when he finally
spoke.

“Train wreck?” he repeated. That Sunday when Harry had escaped his own house, Louis had been
the one to care for him, in the only way he could. Louis had seen that vulnerability in Harry. He
must have known that life wasn’t so easy for him. He must have noticed, in some way. Still, he
stood there, standing by his words. “Well,” Harry whispered, forcing his voice not to break. “I
guess you know me best to know that, don’t you?”

He grabbed his things and strode out of the room. His throat was closing. His chest was aching.
Inhale, exhale. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t breathe. He felt nauseous. He walked swiftly to the
car, where he sat down and shut the door. He wanted to drive off, but didn’t know where to go.
Without Louis’ house, he didn’t have many places that felt inviting. As he sat there, he felt like his
chest was shrinking. His breathing hitched, and he covered his face with his hands.

Did Louis think that Harry was made of stone? He wasn’t. His body resembled a house of cards at
best.

Train wreck.

It was the truth. Harry agreed. Everything he had done the past school year felt like a mess of
emotional decisions that he would always come to regret. His life was a mess, complete and utter
wreckage. Yet it chewed on, like a train that didn’t know how to stop. Eventually, there would be
bloodshed.

Harry had never wanted things to end up like this. He had never wanted to share his sexuality in
that way, and he had never wanted to hurt Louis. Even after everything that Louis had done and
said, hurting Louis was the last thing he’d ever wanted. Not Louis, who had turned into one of the
most weirdly consoling individuals in his life.

Harry’s fingers squeezed around his hair, pulling in frustration. He wanted to scream. Despite the
fact that Louis’ words were tearing him open, and no matter how much Louis could hurt him —
and how effortlessly he could do it — Harry couldn’t pretend that he wouldn’t go back to him.
Harry needed him. He recognised that, but he didn’t want it to be that way. Especially not now,
when Louis had shown him exactly where they stood in this relationship.

Zayn had been right. It was a mistake. That day before school started again, when Harry crawled
into Louis’ bed and let Louis make the choice for him, Harry had made a mistake. Having sex with
Louis had made him blind to the callous side in him. The one who did things and said things, not
caring who or how much they would hurt.

Harry felt sick. Why had he let himself get into this situation? Zayn had warned him, but Harry had
clearly been so desperate and lonely that he’d offered himself up to a person who had always hated
him. He still did, and Harry had just pretended like it wasn’t true. The thought made his insides
bleed.

“I hate him,” he whispered into the phone after half an hour of internal destruction. “I fucking hate
him, Zayn.”

“I don’t think that’s true, H,” said Zayn quietly. It wasn’t true, of course. Neither of them was
dumb enough to actually believe that. “Why don’t you come back to school, okay?”

“No,” he shook his head. He wiped at his eyes. “I don’t want to see his fucking face.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. Just come inside, and you’ll feel better.” After a moment of
silence, he added, “We baked a cake for you.”

Harry hesitated. “A real cake?”

“A real cake,” promised Zayn.

It wasn’t easy to walk back into school. He checked his face in the rear-view mirror for minutes
before heading inside. His eyes were red and puffy, and the skin beneath dry. He didn’t want to go
in, but it was better to be in Zayn’s company than alone. There was nothing worse than being
alone.

They had indeed baked a cake, and they brought it out in the cafeteria during lunch, singing for
him loudly. It was most of the lads from the team, and a couple of Zayn’s friends. Harry didn’t see
Louis, and he was glad. He didn’t need anything more from him. His chest hurt enough as it was.

Zayn wrapped his arm around Harry’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Just blow out the candles, and
smile.”

Harry blew them out and tried his best to look like he enjoyed it. Anyone in the mood was offered
cake, and Harry poked at his piece. He didn’t feel hungry.

“Do you think Louis’ going to prank you after school?” asked someone as they ate. Harry forced a
shrug. Louis clearly did not care enough to consider his birthday as it was.

The rest of the school day was unbearable. People kept wishing him a nice day, but for Harry, it
felt like the worst day he’d had in a long time. January had been bliss, for most of it, but February
seemed truly like pure torment.

He received a text from his sister around two that afternoon.

Arriving at the station at 3!!! Picking me up??

He hadn’t even considered that she might be coming tonight. He replied that he would, but couldn’t
bring himself to feel particularly upbeat about it. He hadn’t seen her in a month, and although she
texted occasionally so much had changed since then. His mother knew he was gay, for one.

Zayn gave him a hug before they parted. “Happy birthday, lad. Try not to think so much.
Tomlinson is a dick. We already knew that.”
“I hate him,” whispered Harry. He didn’t.

“You don’t.” Zayn gave him a small smile. “That’s the issue, innit?”

It really fucking was.

Harry met Gemma on the platform. She jumped off the train, holding a suitcase with wheels. She
was dressed in a long coat and blue jeans, and her brown hair fluttered in the wind as she jogged
towards him. She threw her arms around him, hugging tightly. He felt a little surprised at her
unretained excitement, but squeezed her back firmly.

“Happy birthday, little brother!” She grinned and pushed her sunglasses into her hair, taking a good
look at him. She made a face. “What are you wearing?”

Harry looked down at himself. Tracks and a tee, under a jacket.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Fine,” he promised.

She was frowning, her dark eyebrows pointing downwards as she examined his stance. “Because
Zayn texted me. He said you weren’t too happy with your birthday so far?”

Fucking Zayn.

“Really?” Harry replied casually, eyes glancing off into the distance.

His sister slapped his wrist, but then kept her hand around his arm. Her eyes were sympathetic. “Is
it Mum and Dad? Did they fight today?”

“What’s new?” he shrugged, and his sister instantly placed her arm around his waist, moving them
towards the stairs on the platform.

“They suck sometimes, but they are trying their best, you know?” She smiled up at him. “Let’s get
a coffee at Pret, and then we’ll face them together at home, yeah?”

Harry nodded. His sister seemed in a good mood, and perhaps Zayn’s text had made her more
considerate of his. He took her suitcase as they headed up the stairs, and then they drove into town.

By the time they got home, it was almost five. Harry had heard everything about his sister’s
boyfriend and all the little getaways they’d had, about her school activities, and her friends. She
was considering whether she should move in with her boyfriend, or not. Harry had only met him a
couple of times, and couldn’t say he knew him well enough to know if it was a good idea.

“I’m gonna’ set up in my room,” Gemma said as they walked into the house. His parents didn’t
seem to be home yet. “Then we can have a beer before the grandparents arrive, yeah?”

Harry nodded and started towards his room. He needed a few minutes to himself. Gemma had tried
her best to lighten his mood, and it had worked to some degree, but he didn’t feel quite all right.
Louis’ words were still digging into his flesh, and the bleeding hadn’t stopped.

There was a reason it hadn’t stopped hurting yet. The reason was that Harry didn’t hate Louis, but
rather something towards the opposite. It was painful.

He opened the door to his room and stopped dead.

It was dark. There was music. 50 Cent, in other words, singing Candy Shop. Harry’s eyes stared at
what was in front of him. On his bed was Louis Fucking Tomlinson.

“I take you to the candy shop,” rang the music. Louis was leaning on the bed, near to naked,
wearing nothing but a pair of very small, black briefs. On his head was a party hat, askew, the
string cutting into his skin.

His skin. Which was absolutely shining in golden. And not the usual, beautiful tan, but actually
golden. Like glitter-golden. It took Harry a second to fathom it; Louis Tomlinson was almost naked
and covered in oily, golden glitter, and he had positioned himself like a stripper on top of Harry’s
bed.

The bed was Harry’s, but it didn’t look like it. The sheets were changed, no longer dark, but also in
gold. The rest of the room was dim-lit, full of party décor, and shining balloons. It was difficult to
take it in because the music playing was Candy Shop by 50 Cent, and Louis Tomlinson was
dancing. Dancing. Writhing. Like a stripper.

Harry was in shock. At first, there was nothing inside him as he watched Louis’ body move, hips
rolling, the muscles in his chest and stomach tightly contracting and shining under lamplights and
golden oil. Louis’ hands moved down his own chest, seductively sliding them across his body and
evidently attempting to move like a dancer at a stag do. Louis’ hands moved up to his mouth and
when he sucked on his own fingers, Harry couldn’t be quiet anymore.

“What the fuck is this,” he whispered. He didn’t know if he was meant to laugh, get turned on, or
both.

Inside, something began stirring. He didn’t know whether he was praying to make this stop, or
thanking God profusely. It was as dreadful as it was magical.

It was amazing because Louis looked amazing. Beautiful, of course, even dressed up ridiculously.
He could wear rubbish bags and, still, Harry would want him. He always wanted him. Furthermore,
watching him up there on the bed, gyrating to 50 fucking Cent, it was becoming clear this was an
attempt to make Harry laugh. Louis was actively trying to cheer him up. Zayn was the only other
person who did that.

And although it was amazing, it was also awful. It was ridiculous, all of it, but the part of Harry
praying was mentally getting down on his knees. Louis was supposed to be the one doing the
writhing and repenting, but Harry wasn’t far from sinking down and pressing his face into the low
of Louis’ stomach, to let his nose and mouth breathe in the glitter and the smell of skin, through the
fabric of his black briefs. It was amazing, and painful. Even though Louis’ words could cut him, he
never stopped making Harry want him.

Louis’ eyes met Harry’s. He looked expectant, sort of gauging Harry’s reaction. Harry didn’t know
what Louis thinking, but Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off his body.

It wasn’t until Louis tried to twerk, that Harry couldn’t hold it in any longer. A laugh, despite the
emotional calamity within, burst out.

What the hell was he watching?

He had never seen Louis Tomlinson do such a thing. He had never seen this side of Louis. He
knew the callous and aggressive side of Louis all too well, but Louis had never tried to make him
laugh. He had never so ardently and deliberately tried to lighten his mood, and especially not in
such a manner.
Louis crawled off the bed and danced forward until he was standing in front of Harry. His eyes
were blue and sparkling again, the coldness from that morning long gone. The memory of it still
lingered, however, and Harry’s insides hadn’t healed.

Louis mimed the song, not singing, but definitely keeping up with the bass and lyrics. His hand
grabbed Harry’s t-shirt, turned, and pushed him towards the bed. He moved him until he was
sitting, and Louis turned around, pushing his arse against Harry’s crotch.

It was a lot. His mind was off doing gymnastics in thinking, but his body was interested. He was
plenty confused. Louis winked over his shoulder, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh again. No
matter what, the situation was bizarre. He hadn’t experienced such an awkwardly stupid thing, and
if it hadn’t been for that morning he’d probably been over the moon, or down on his knees,
moaning into Louis’ shorts.

It was still kind of funny, somehow. Louis looked freaking stupid, but also unbelievably,
preposterously hot.

When the song ended, Louis was on top of him still, and they both fell back onto the bed. Louis
was laughing slightly, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was breathing or not.

“Oh, my God. What the hell was that?” he laughed. He had no idea what the fuck just occurred. He
began to sit up, on the edge of the bed, and Louis followed with Harry’s arm still slightly behind
him. There was some glitter on Harry’s t-shirt.

Louis shrugged, but he looked serious. “Well. It’s your birthday, and I was a fucking arse this
morning.” Louis’ eyes were intense and penetrating as he watched Harry, who swallowed tightly.
“I thought I’d make a fool of myself to apologise, and at the same time give you a little gift.”

Harry stared at the room. Louis had decorated, indeed. It was kind of cool, a little hastily done, but
Harry couldn’t say he didn’t like it. Pain still ached somewhere deep down.

“Well, you’re a fucking arse for sure,” he mumbled, “but I like the room.”

Louis grinned. “Welcome. And my dance?”

Harry thought of Louis’ dancing, and the way his chest looked, covered in glitter. “That was
definitely unexpected. Ridiculous. And the striptease was definitely a hundred per cent on point…”
he trailed off, sarcastic, and Louis’ hand slapped lamely against his belly. Harry chuckled quietly
despite himself.

Louis’ voice was still serious as he spoke. “I’m sorry, though. Harry, for real.” Louis looked down
at him. But Harry was taken aback at the words. Louis… sounded sincere. He had never
apologised to Harry for anything before. “It was uncalled for.”

He looked away. He wasn’t so sure it was. It felt like the words were very much called for. If
Louis hadn’t said it, maybe someone else would’ve eventually. Maybe Harry had needed to hear
them. It felt like the truth, anyway.

Louis’ fingers rose, and gently grasped Harry’s chin, trying to make him meet his eyes. Harry kept
his gaze averted, unable to look into Louis’ blue eyes. He never seemed to know what he would
find there.

“Harry, I’m sorry,” repeated Louis, voice just a tad louder. “And I did try to make up for it.”

As if that made the aftermath of the words any better?

“Sometimes,” said Harry quietly, teeth gritted. “You’re a fucking dick, Louis. For no reason at all.”

“I know,” he murmured. His fingers let go of Harry, and he began to get up, looking around
himself awkwardly. “Maybe I should go.”

Harry couldn’t make his mouth say anything. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Louis was
unpredictable, he had always known that, but he didn’t know if it was in a good way or bad. Louis
took turns sharply, and Harry had a hard time keeping up. Louis’ words from that morning scolded
yet, and though Louis’ apology seemed sincere, he didn’t know if he could accept it. Maybe he
needed a bit of time.

Louis had begun to stride around the room, movements hurried, as his hands shielded his body
slightly.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“Leaving. This was a bad idea.”

Harry didn’t like that word, leaving. Recently he didn’t like it when Louis left him, and it was
extremely difficult to turn off the feeling of yearning that seemed to come alive each time Louis
was starting to disappear from his proximity. Harry carefully stood, his body making the decisions
for him. Louis was glancing into the wardrobe for some reason, and Harry stopped behind him.
There was some glitter on his shoulder, sparkling dimly. Harry’s hand brushed against Louis’
waist.

“Louis…” he whispered. “Why are you leaving?” Louis turned around, but he looked unhappy. He
shrugged. “Didn’t you get me a birthday present?” Harry tried.

He snorted. “Greedy.”

“Hey, you got me one, yeah?” Harry didn’t know if he was asking to change the subject for his
own self-preservation, or if it was because the change of subject made Louis’ face look less
disheartened. It might have been mostly the second thing.

“Kind of,” he revealed, arms crossed over his chest.

Harry’s brows rose, and he bumped Louis’ hip with his own. “Well?”

“You look like a frog like that.”

Jesus.

“Now you’re rude again.” At least Louis was starting to resemble himself again.

“Sorry,” he sighed. It was the second apology of the evening. Harry didn’t know what was going
on tonight.

“Apology accepted.”

Louis waved his hand around, voice only a mumble as he looked down on the floor. Harry wasn’t
sure he’d ever seen him so defeated if it wasn’t about football. “I was gonna’, you know, offer you
three wishes and grant them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and don’t look at me like that. The mood has been sufficiently ruined.”
Harry was definitely intrigued by the wishes, and what they could potentially do with them.
However, it wasn’t like they could have sex tonight anyway. Harry’s sister was in the house, and
his parents were probably home any second. At that, a thought occurred.

“Wait, how did you even get into my house?”

“Not important, Harold. Anyways, I should probably —”

The door swung open. As if on cue, directly instructed by Harry’s previous thoughts, Harry’s
mother was striding into the room.

“Darling, we’re going to start setting up for — Oh! Oh, wow!”

Harry felt as Louis sprung in behind him, his face pressing hotly against Harry’s t-shirt. Harry’s
heart was beating heavily, his hands clutching at Louis’ body, holding him firmly behind himself.
Louis’ fingers dug into Harry’s biceps.

“Wow, darling. Who did this? It’s amazing.”

Harry watched, constipated, as his mother walk into the room, her eyes wide and absorbed by the
golden décor just like Harry’s were upon first seeing it. His mum was dressed up, her face painted
with make-up. She watched around for a second, and then abruptly stopped as her eyes set on
Harry. In her face, there was yet again horror.

Harry cleared his throat, feeling nothing but discomfort and dread as he met her eyes. He hadn’t
meant for this.

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.”

Harry’s breathing shook. Louis’ hands were painful on his arms where he hid behind him. “Mum,
could you give us a moment,” he squeezed out.

Her voice was hurried, and strained. “Certainly, dear. I’ll let your, err, friend — boyfriend, I mean,
him get dressed. I’ll see you two downstairs, or, I — I’ll make sure to set an extra plate.” She
turned around and hurried out of the room, hand shielding her eyes from them. She was gone
quickly, but neither Harry nor Louis seemed capable of movement.

“Oh, my God,” whispered Louis against Harry’s back. Harry felt the same. His mother had just
seen Louis, like that. Kissing was one thing, but Louis was pretty much naked. “Did you know
they were going to be home?”

“I forgot.” It hadn’t been easy to think of all the practical circumstances when Louis had been
dancing and rubbing himself against him.

“Shit, I need to leave,” said Louis. He didn’t move, though, and Harry was personally lost in the
words of his own mother.

She had said “boyfriend” and that she would set an extra plate for Louis. At Harry’s birthday
dinner. She wasn’t trying to kick Louis out, rather had invited him to stay, despite what had just
happened. That had to be progress, right? Maybe now, she would say something about it. Perhaps
now she would be able to look him in the eyes and accept that he was gay, and that would be it.
Perhaps his mother could go back to treating him normally again.

Moreover, Harry felt a vague regret that Louis being naked in his room had interrupted his
mother’s first words. He wanted to know what his mother was going to say when she walked in. He
had barely spoken to her for a whole week, and the fact that she was approaching him was
uplifting.

“What are we going to do?” asked Louis’ voice. His hands tugged on Harry’s shirt, gaining his
attention.

“I think… I think she thinks you’re staying for dinner.”

“What?”

“Birthday dinner. My relatives are coming.”

“I’m not,” said Louis, certain. “I’m not, right?” Less certain.

Harry thought about it. “I don’t know.”

Perhaps if Louis stayed, then his mother would have to react. Then she’d have to talk to him. In
front of their family, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Harry had shown her what was actually going
on with him anymore. She would have to face it, and she would have to talk to him about it. Harry
really needed to speak to his mum.

“Harry.”

“I think you should get dressed.”

“Harry!” Louis sounded desperate.

He finally looked at him, hoping that Louis would do this for him. His hand found Louis’ waist as
if the touch could compel him to go along with it. “Please,” he asked. “Do me a favour.”

“Harold!”

Another voice called from the hallway, outside the door. It was Gemma’s. “Harry! Why is Mum a
nervous wreck? What did you do?”

Just like that, Louis was gone. Harry, startled, watched as Louis Tomlinson flew across the room as
if he were a giant dust cloud of golden glitter in flight mode. It took seconds, and then Louis had
bolted straight to the bathroom and locked himself inside. Harry couldn’t help but laugh, and when
Gemma walked into the room he was still snickering. His sister whistled, eyes scanning the room.

“Wow, fancy. What was the music all about?” She’d changed into a blouse and light blue jeans, a
pair of long, golden earrings falling down to her shoulders.

“My friend surprised me with music and balloons.” Not a total lie.

“Your friend?” She glanced around them again. “Where is he?”

“In the shower.”

She raised a brow, and indeed the water falling to the tile floor in there could be heard. “Do your
friends often shower at your house?”

Harry’s cheeks, for a strange reason, felt a little red. He didn’t often blush. Not ever, really. He
didn’t know why he did now, in front of his sister. He cleared his throat, but he could still feel her
interrogating eyes on his face. He ignored them. “Can I borrow your shower?”
She didn’t say anything but, “Sure.”

They both left the room quietly, and Harry took a thorough shower inside his sister’s en suite. He
forced his thoughts not to delve into the night to come. He wasn’t exactly worried. It was rather an
eagerness within, that longed for nothing more than to finally talk to his mum. He hoped Louis’
presence would make her open up. As he tiptoed into his room in a towel, he could hear her voice
from downstairs. It sounded like some of his grandparents had begun arriving.

Back in his own room, he got dressed and fixed up his hair. Louis was still in the shower for
another few minutes, and by the time he peaked his head out of the bathroom, his skin was void of
most of the glitter. Harry could only spot a small shimmer across his collarbone. Louis splayed out
on Harry’s bed after being assured they were alone, sighing as though exhausted.

“What’s the plan then?” he asked. Harry wondered if he knew that being that close to naked on top
of a bed was very bad for Harry’s blood pressure. He could very clearly see the outline of his body
underneath the towel.

“Plan?”

Louis nodded. “Do you sneak me out the back? Tie up some sheets so I can climb out the
window?”

Harry frowned. He thought they had already agreed. “You’re staying.”

“What? Harry, why?” The indignance in his eyes indicated he had most certainly not agreed to
anything of the sort.

“Because…” He didn’t know how to explain it. It’s not like Louis would understand anyway. He
clearly had never told anyone about his sexuality and received the feedback of an ice-cold wall.
“Please do,” he begged. “Just, my parents they… Look, if you do nobody has to know. And I’ll
owe you.”

“Owe me how?” he questions, and sounded a little intrigued, thankfully. Although, it was rather
typical of him. Always in it for himself.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know, anything.” He guessed it was actually true. He might have done
anything to get his mother to talk to him again, and if Louis made it happen, then he would give
him anything he wanted to repay him the favour. Louis didn’t reply, though. He looked fairly
inclined to deny the request. Harry said the only thing he could think of. “If you still want, you can
grant me my wishes after.”

This instantly changed Louis’ expression. He rolled his eyes, and shook his head. There was a tiny
grin on his face. “You’re such a dirty player. Fine.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. It seemed Louis still, even after behaving like a world-class idiot,
couldn’t deny Harry any sexual satisfaction. “Good. Let me get you some clothes.”

He needed to wear something. Not like he could walk out in his tiny briefs. While Louis dried
himself off, he found him clothes he believed would be a fit.

“Here. I think this will fit.”

Louis took the shirt, but eyed it carefully. His gaze touched upon Harry’s chest, and he said
dubiously, “Did you wear this in junior year?”
Harry smirked. “Sophomore.”

“Fucking arse.” He lifted the shirt and whacked Harry in the shoulder with it, but it was light and
Harry laughed, knowing Louis was going to wear his too-small blue, button down, very much
aware of it. Plus, Louis was wearing his clothes. It made him feel warm.

Louis turned back to the mirror, and Harry grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his chest and
pulling him closer to his chest. The fact that they were bickering again, in a warm manner this time,
felt good. It made little, happy air bubbles flutter in his body. More so, it felt nice to hold him, if
just briefly. Furthermore, Louis’ neck, shining just a little from left-over gold, looked strangely
appetizing.

Despite the fact that the words from that morning still echoed somewhere within, Harry couldn’t
help but place his mouth on Louis’ skin, giving him a couple of kisses, right there, in the crook of
his shoulder. Louis had apologised, his mind rationalised. For the first time in his life. Maybe he
did regret what he’d said. Maybe it’d been just a moment of heated feelings.

Louis pushed him off, calling him a vampire, but Harry could see there was a little smile on his
face. Harry also remembered the dejected look on his face when Harry hadn’t accepted the
apology. Maybe he did possess the ability to make Louis feel something. Something, at least.

When it was finally time to get downstairs and greet the family, Harry’s throat felt dry. His heart
thrummed, fast and painful, but he was determined. He couldn’t go on much longer not speaking to
his mother. He needed her to look at him, recognise the truth, and say something. Anything.

“Harry,” said Louis atop the stairs. The voices below seemed to stop him. He looked up at Harry,
his blue eyes glistening with some kind of apprehension. Harry had never known Louis to be
scared of anything.

“Louis, it’s cool,” he said, even though he didn’t feel entirely collected himself. “Just act like
you’re my boyfriend and pretend we’ve been dating for ages.

He looked confused. “But we haven’t been dating for ages. Doesn’t anybody know that?”

The fact that Louis thought this couldn’t possibly work was a clear tell of how different their
relationships with their parents were. Harry envied him. If he were close to his parents, he doubted
anything like this evening would happen at all. He envied the fact that if Louis wanted, he could
probably talk to his mother about his sexuality in the open, and not wonder whether he was
pushing her away or not.

It was difficult to say the next words, and in the end, they felt testy in his mouth. “My Mum has
seen us kiss once, and this was the second time she’s seen anything. I haven’t told her shit. Nobody
knows anything.”

Louis’ eyes widened considerably. “Are you saying we’re about to give your family heart attacks?”

Harry hadn’t actually thought of it like that. Honestly, it was difficult to care much about the rest
of his family when his mother behaved as she did. His goal was her, not everyone else. The
aftermath of them thinking Louis was his close friend or boyfriend didn’t faze him. It was his
mother’s true and raw feelings he sought.

He shook his head, Louis’ questions strangely frustrating. “Just be cool, Louis.” He touched his
chest briefly and then tugged him down the stairs. He heard Louis mutter, “I hate you so much,”
but he nonetheless followed him down.
Harry technically had four grandparents, but in truth he considered himself to have five. His
mother’s parents had been married since their twenties, and Harry had since he was a child admired
their headstrong relationship that was so full of love. From the outside, their long-lasting love
seemed like a fairy tale, and when he was a child he believed every marriage was like theirs. It was
naïve, considering the fact that his father’s parents were divorced. They had been separated for
over twenty years, and Harry’s grandmother had remarried shortly after the fact. Barney, her
husband, felt just as much like a grandfather as Harry’s dad’s actual father. The five of them, as
much as they could, refused to miss a birthday, whether it was Harry’s or Gemma’s, or one of their
cousins’.

When Harry landed on the main floor, his dad’s father, Gus Styles stood in the living room with
Gemma, closest to the stairs. He instantly called out, and Harry, bringing Louis firmly with him
knowing the guy was about to bolt out the room at first chance, was enveloped in his familiar
arms. His grandfather smelled like earth and flowers. He had been a gardener most of his life and
still had green fingers despite his age. As a kid, Harry had spent hours digging and dropping little
seeds into pots, returning every few months to check the progress.

“Good to see you, my boy,” hummed his grandfather in his ear, and Harry felt a nostalgic yearning
in his gut. He wanted to be a child again. Maybe then he could change something, and his future
wouldn’t turn out like this.

He felt Louis’ arm under his fingers, sensing his trepidation as he pulled him around the room,
keeping him in his proximity as he quickly made sure to hug each and every one of them. He
swallowed as he spotted his mum, standing next to his grandmother, Evie Selley.

“Who’s this then?” asked Gus Styles, and Harry took a deep breath. He plastered a smile on his
face, but his breathing felt off. His eyes flickered to his mother. She wasn’t looking directly at him,
or Louis. “Zayn? Harry’s best mate, yes?”

“No,” Harry said. He braced himself. “This is Louis.” He lifted his hand, deliberately placing it at
the back of Louis’ neck.

At that moment, he felt Louis’ barely contained scowl, Gemma’s direct look, and his grandparents’
perplexed silence, but most of all he felt the pain of watching his mother divert her eyes to the
floor, picking at her sleeve.

“Hi.” Louis’ voice was hoarse, uncomfortable. At the sound of it, Harry turned and met his gaze.
His hair was feathery, styled perfectly with Harry’s blow-dryer, the shirt just a little big for his
chest to fill it out. His eyes were mesmerizingly blue, and looking at them, despite how aflame they
were with displeasure, they made Harry feel better.

Harry’s mother’s voice was loud. “So, dinner! Dinner’s ready! Let’s eat. Sit at the table.”

The silence was cut out by the sound of people moving, and briefly, Harry met Gemma’s gaze. It
was full of questions, and she lifted a hand, pointing at Louis in disbelief. He nailed her with a look,
and she grimaced at him with squinted eyes.

“You’re an arsehole,” hissed Louis through gritted teeth, leaning into Harry’s side when they were
slightly off to the side.

Harry gripped the shirt at his waist. He wanted to comfort him, but he also didn’t have time to baby
him. Louis had agreed, after all. “It’s going to be absolutely fine, boo.”

Louis’ look in response told him he didn’t believe him, and simultaneously, that the pet name
repulsed him. Harry grabbed his arm and tugged him into the kitchen. Louis didn’t seem to dislike
the touch, but his eyes flickered about the dining room nervously as they entered through the
arched doorway. Everyone was sitting down, and Harry pushed Louis gently into a chair next to
Gemma, figuring he might be safest there. At least she wouldn’t ask him questions about school.

“Right, dig in!” instructed Harry’s mother, and he tried to catch her eyes. She was sitting on the
opposite side of the table; she had to look at him at some point. Once more he regretted the fact
that Louis being in his room had interrupted her words. She was going to talk to him. It seemed the
incident had put her off.

The food smelled nice, but truthfully Harry had no clue of how it tasted. He barely touched it. He
loaded his and Louis’ plates, meanwhile, he tried to look happy and relaxed. Louis’ leg jumped
against his under the table, though, and it made his blood tick. It seemed Louis’ anxiety was
crippling his mood. His stomach churned, but he smiled. Gemma caught his eyes once, pointedly
glancing at Louis, asking for explanations. He ignored her. Instead, he answered questions. His
grandparents had a million questions. They asked every single query in the book, but clearly veered
off the subject of his relationship with Louis.

Harry wondered briefly how much it would take for them to say something. For any of them to
react. How far did he have to take it for his mother to look at him?

“What did you get for your birthday then?” asked Jackie, his grandmother on his father’s side.

He almost wanted to laugh. What had he not received? There’d been snogging, heartache, shock,
and unexpected laughter. Who knew what else he’d get?

His father answered for him. “Well, we’ve not had time to give Harry his gifts yet. We’re doing it
at dessert.”

Gemma voiced the confusion the words had left the guests in. “Don’t you always wake up to cake
and Mum singing ‘Happy Birthday’ like a champ?”

Harry’s eyes were only on his mother when she finally spoke. “Well,” she said slowly, deliberately.
“Harry wasn’t home this morning.” She paused, then, “He was at Louis’.”

She looked more collected than she had all night. The words seemed to make lines on her forehead
dissipate. Like they were being processed, finally. Harry’s heart sped up yet again. Was it a good
sign? Maybe?

“What?” his father’s voice, ever confused, cut through his scrutiny. “I thought you were at Zayn’s,
Harry. Didn’t you say —”

“Not now, Des,” interrupted his mum.

Harry was genuinely surprised at his father’s words. He thought he had understood that what Harry
said the night before was a blatant lie. Was his father truly that gullible? He tried not to question it,
instead forcing himself to smile and eat. He chose a piece of cucumber, chewing, chewing.

“Well, did Louis celebrate you properly then?”

Inhale, exhale.

Harry placed a hand on Louis’ shoulder. He felt warm, like he was sweating underneath the shirt.
“Well, he pretended he didn’t remember my birthday when we woke up, and then he surprised me
after school.” He swallowed the piece of cucumber he had chewed for far too long, and let his
fingers stroke at Louis’ neck, gently.

Louis spoke, voice sounding strangled. “Yes… I redecorated his room a bit. Thought it needed a
makeover.”

It was a massive downplay. Massive.

Harry’s grandmother brightened. “Oh, how lovely.” Harry knew she kept interior design
magazines on every table in her and Uncle Barney’s house. “We must go look after dinner. Right,
Evie?”

“Oh, yes. Sounds exciting,” she nodded.

For a second, the table was silent, smiles and looks intertwining. Harry wasn’t blind, and he had
enough emotional intelligence to feel out a room. It was awkward. Gemma was frustrated, but she
didn’t want to ask in front of the guests. Harry’s father was still confused, and his mother was
nervously scratching her golden bracelet. Her eyes were on the table.

Her words repeated themselves. Harry had been at Louis’ house. She had also seen him just about
naked in his room, and she’d seen her son snog him against a car, on the street. Why couldn’t she
speak to him?

Harry inhaled. “Oh, yes. Definitely. I was so surprised.” His mother kept her eyes on her food. “It’s
so lovely. He put a light-bulb strand, got me balloons, and changed the sheets…”

Silence.

No reaction.

Frustration was beginning to putter somewhere inside. He turned to Louis, who was sending
daggers with his eyes.

His voice was as stiff as his body. “Welcome, love,” he forced out. He didn’t look happy, thus, it
was as if from out of nowhere when his finger touched Harry’s chin. The little touch surprised him,
mostly because Louis hadn’t ever touched him so gently before. It was a complete contradiction to
the discomfort he displayed. It was light, easy. It was comforting. Despite everything that Louis
said or did, he was comforting. Welcome, love.

“How did you meet then, Louis?”

Louis’ eyes flicked towards Jackie. “We’re co-captains of the school’s football team? Harry and I
run the football practices together. We’re starting the play-offs for the championship in March…?”
He trailed off, all of his sentences a question.

“You’re co-captain, Harry?” His father was shocked. Harry felt colder. This wasn’t a subject he had
expected.

“You never told us that, Harry!” Her voice! She spoke. It seemed she could address him after all.
Why was it that football was enough to irk them, but something like his sexuality, something that
was him, could be ignored?

“Why would I tell you?” he gritted out. You don’t care about football.” About him. “You want me
to go to business school, anyway.”

Silence. Always that fucking silence.

“Well,” said Louis suddenly. He sounded bothered. “Harry is one of the best players on the team.
He deserves to be captain. He’s done a lot for the team, and I really think he could get somewhere,
playing football.”

Yet again, Louis surprised him. Before, when he hadn’t ever touched Louis, he thought he had him
figured out. He thought he knew what a close-minded and stuck-up person he was, a bully, who
only saw himself. It was clear to Harry that while Louis did possess the ability to push him into the
deepest grave of agony, he could also lift him out of it at any time he desired.

Harry couldn’t believe he had just said those words. His heart beat like a hammer.

“Well, that’s great, Harry,” said Uncle Barney. Harry met his eyes briefly, and he did look like it
intrigued him, but Harry couldn’t appreciate it at that second. He could only think about Louis’
mouth saying those words, and the way his thigh felt against Harry’s under the table.

“It is.” Again. Louis’ voice. Love.

“Let’s move over to the living room, okay?” said Harry’s mum. Everyone appeared to agree that
was the best idea. Harry stood first, and Louis followed instantly. It felt good, knowing Louis was
by his side. Harry needed him closer, so he wrapped his arm around his waist, tugging him along
towards the living room.

He sat down, eyes squeezing together. Inhale, exhale. He felt the sofa dip next to him as Louis
settled by his side.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied swiftly. He swallowed. “Whatever.”

How could it be that Louis was the one asking this? Why wasn’t his mother asking him this? He
wiped a hand across his face, opening his eyes as his grandmother Jackie and Uncle Barney walked
into the room and sat down around the coffee table.

“That was strange, huh?”

Harry almost glared at Uncle Barney. He was the funny one, and usually, Harry appreciated his
sense of humour and general happiness, but at this moment, he didn’t like it. How come they
wouldn’t just ask it? Couldn’t they address it? Why did Harry have to do the hard part every single
time?

Louis chuckled. He laughed. Harry almost looked up to stare at him. Louis was giggling at
something Harry’s uncle had said. It felt so entirely unfitting and alien, yet everything Louis
seemed to say tonight was making him feel better. He didn’t know why he was laughing, because
Harry didn’t see any humour in it, but the sound of Louis’ amusement was something he didn’t
hear often.

“Here’s to hoping dessert will be better,” said Uncle Barney.

“Do you know what you’ll wish for, before blowing out the candles?” asked his grandma.

Harry knew exactly what he’d wish for. He knew it was also unrealistic. You couldn’t go back in
time and change something. You couldn’t decide how people would react to things, either.

Inhale, exhale. He pulled Louis closer.

“Don’t know what I’d wish for, Grandma. Got all I need already.”

There was a light slap against his chest. “You’re so gross,” huffed Louis in his ear. His body was
warm next to him, though. He felt faintly better with Louis breathing against him. It was easier to
follow the rhythm of inhale-exhale. Louis stayed close to him.

Harry couldn’t help but let a little smile show. “You love it.”

The next words threw him. They did his head in.

“You two are so cute.” It was his grandmother, again. You two are so cute.

How come his grandmother, and the rest of his grandparents for that matter, could see it so easily?
How could his grandparents, all five of them, understand and accept it so easily? They were all
over sixty years, Harry saw them a few times a year tops, and yet his parents, whom he lived with,
were either in denial or couldn’t tell what was going on with him. How could grandmother — his
sweet, sweet grandma, so intelligent and so impossibly kind, be the mother of Harry’s father? His
father, who was lazy, and disinterested in everything that didn’t accompany his golf set, and
couldn’t for the life of his notice that something was happening in Harry’s life. He didn’t notice
Harry.

For months Harry had felt like nobody saw him. Least of all his parents. The ones he could count
on were Zayn and… Louis. Maybe. Depending on what state of mind he was in. This morning he
was hurtful. Tonight… he was undeniable comfort.

The rest of the dinner party arrived in the room. Gemma sat down across from Harry, and on
Louis’ other side, on the sofa, Harry’s father made himself comfortable. Harry felt Louis inch a
slight fraction closer to his side and instinctively tugged him in, arm around him protectively.

His grandfather, Gus Styles, sat down in the armchair on Harry’s end of the sofa. “So, do you think
you’ll get what you wished for then, Harry?” he asked. He had a very warm and booming voice.
When he was little, Harry had always imagined it was the way Santa Claus would speak.

The answer to his question was less warm. It was heatless. “I don’t know,” he responded. “I’ve
only seen envelopes so far.” He hadn’t even been asked what he wanted. And even if he had been,
he didn’t want anything he could physically possess. He wanted what he couldn’t have.

For some reason, Harry’s grandparents thought his reply was entertaining, and they laughed in
delight. Harry’s insides tightened.

“What did you wish for?” whispered Louis in his ear. His breath tickled his skin.

He replied honestly. “I didn’t.”

“No?”

“I don’t know what I’d wish for.”

“Hold on!” Harry glanced up as his father exclaimed the words, speaking louder than he had all
night. “I finally know where I recognise you from, Louis!” Harry had a snippet of a moment to ask
himself where his father could possibly have seen Louis, before he continued, “You work at the
frozen yoghurt shop!”

Harry stilled. Louis stilled, too, and then Harry knew it was true.
“Yes,” said Louis, words cracked like he couldn’t quite get them out. Harry frowned, turning
slightly to face him. Louis Tomlinson had a job? In a fro-yo shop? Since when? He tried to rake
through his mind, searching for memories of such a mention, but nothing could be found.

“Why didn’t you say so? Anne and I have been there loads of times?”

“I —” His voice broke. Harry didn’t like how insecure he sounded. Louis was never not confident.
“I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

Harry’s eyes fell to the floor. Louis had seen his parents… alone. In public. Many times. His heart
rate began to pick up yet again. It seemed he could never catch a break. What was it with this day?
When would the surprises stop? His blood pressure was going to go through the roof. Why hadn’t
Louis told him about this?

Harry instantly hoped his parents had behaved. By the discomfort in Louis’ body language, he
guessed they hadn’t. He felt ashamed. This meant Louis might have seen their astoundingly
dreadful relationship play out in real-time. In a way, he didn’t want Louis to know about that part
of his life. In another, he supposed Louis might not have wanted Harry to know about this part of
his life, either. Clearly, there were things Harry didn’t know about Louis.

“But that’s great, Louis. Gathering experience is important for the future,” said Harry’s father.
“What do you want to study and work with?”

Football. Harry knew the answer, and he knew it wouldn’t appease his parents. He didn’t care
about his parents’ feelings about it, but he did find himself bothered, sensing Louis’ discomfort in
their presence.

“What is this? Some kind of interrogation?” he cut in. Enough.

“Sorry. Is it wrong to ask that? I was interested.”

Sense the fucking room! Harry yearned to yell. Notice something. If he couldn’t notice Harry, then
just notice something.

“Well,” his dad continued, “at least you seem to have a lot going for you. Do you have a girlfriend,
too?”

There was silence. Even Gemma, who was usually the first to point out whenever their father was
being particularly out of the loop. Even Harry’s mother, who delighted in pointing his
wrongdoings out, said nothing. Their silence irked. Their silence was painful. Harry was tired of
the silence. It was too much.

“Dad,” he hissed. He forced his breathing to work, but it got stuck in the top of his throat. He
couldn’t seem to do other than speak through his teeth. He wanted to rub his chest for comfort, but
Louis’ body was still against him. He couldn’t bring himself to remove his arm from around him.

His father looked confused. Utterly, and honestly. Harry couldn’t feel sorry for him. He knew if his
dad simply tried to notice, to see, then he’d get it. When he was interested, he was intelligent and
surprisingly skilled at things. When he didn’t care, he was lost and fumbling. Harry knew exactly
to what category he belonged.

“What? Did I say something wrong again?”

“Oh, my God,” Harry yelled, his throat felt raw. “Are you kidding?”
Grandma Jackie cut in. “Des, darling, Harry and Louis are not just friends.”

He looked at Harry. “What do you mean?”

Harry shook. He felt like he was visibly vibrating from the inside and out.

“Dad, are you that slow?” What did his father mean by ‘what do you mean’? What could those
words possibly indicate other than a romantic relationship? Harry was leaning forward. He
couldn’t sit much longer. His body needed room. He couldn’t breathe in there.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

“Hey! Don’t talk to me that way, son,” his dad barked, leaning forward in his seat. His voice
softened, and he looked helplessly around the room as the guests awkwardly looked down at the
floor. “I’m sorry, but…?”

Harry glanced about the room, and couldn’t spot his mother. Where was she anyway? Why wasn’t
she there?

“Dad,” he said, pulse ticking fast. “Do you genuinely not get it?”

“No, clearly not!”

Harry’s pulse exploded. He couldn’t do this anymore. His father couldn’t just see and understand,
and move on. His mother couldn’t see, move on, and accept. Harry had hoped that after his
impulsive decision to kiss Louis in front of his mother, they could accept and move on. He’d hoped
that now he didn’t have to do the difficult part, the part where he had to sit down and say:

I’m gay.

I’m gay.

I’m — Fuck it.

Fuck it.

He was a raging fucking homosexual, dammit, and if his parents couldn’t handle it then fuck them.
Fuck them.

“I’m dating Louis!” he erupted. His chest expanded and collapsed in on itself. His stomach swirled,
and for a second he thought he might pass out. Yet again, there was silence.

Oh, Harry hated silence. He despised it. It made him want to die. Not even Gemma said a word.

“Dating?” deadpanned his father.

“As in kissing, Dad. Having sex.”

Say something, Harry’s insides implored. His body yearned for any of them to say what they
actually thought. He needed to hear something honest.

The silence was interrupted by the sound of Harry’s mother crossing the threshold into the living
room. Harry looked up, and found her carrying a large birthday cake. It was green, with golden
candles on top. Nineteen. Happy fucking birthday.

His mother stopped dead at the words he had just yelled. Sex. Kissing. Harry felt like he could
have just been shouting satanic profanities.

“Oh, God,” whispered his mum. She glanced past Harry, eyes landing on Louis, who shrank
further into the couch.

Louis covered his face, whispering, “Oh, my God.”

Did even Louis think this was absurd? It seemed Harry was utterly and completely alone in this.

“What,” said Harry’s father.

What. What the fuck did that mean?

“Oh, dear,” said his mother. She leaned down to the coffee table in the middle of the group, and
placed the cake down carefully. Her arms almost shook. “Harry and Louis are together, Des, let it
go. Who wants to sing for Harry? Come on, let’s —”

Harry stared at her. Harry and Louis are together. Let it go. How could she say that? Was that what
she thought of it? Let it go. It was impossible to understand what she really felt. Let it go. Harry
couldn’t let it go. How could he? He needed his mother to speak to him. If she could talk to others
about it like it was nothing, why couldn’t she talk to him? How could she say that so easily to
Harry’s father, but at Harry, she could barely even look?

“You knew?!” gasped Harry’s father. So utterly and horridly offended. “You don’t tell me
anything!”

Harry had never felt more like he didn’t exist.

He stood. “Dad, please. I didn’t tell anyone.” Did it even matter what he said anymore?

“So, so — you’re gay.”

Harry hated him. He wanted to hurt him. Inhale-exha —

“For God’s sake!” Harry leaned down, and without telling his body to do it, he reached for Louis.
Louis sat on the sofa, still, staring at the room as if it were a car crash on the road. Harry’s hands
cupped his face, and he planted a quick, steady kiss on his lips. “Yes.”

There.

Was it obvious enough?

Could everyone see it? Did they need it one more time? If he did it again, would anybody notice
how completely and unreservedly homosexual he was? If he got down on his knees and sucked
Louis off, or just got onto the table and held up a sign, was it going to be enough?

“Jesus,” huffed his father. He leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. Then he glanced at the
telly.

“Cake?” asked Harry’s mother.

Everyone was silent.

Fantastic.

Harry didn’t exist. He clearly did not exist in this house, or this family.
He waited half a minute, but nobody continued the conversation. Harry’s mother began moving
about the room, her body a delightful flair of self-induced ignorance. Harry’s father stared at the
black telly, and Louis stared at nothing on his hands. Harry looked at Gemma. His sister. He hadn’t
even had the courage to tell her he was gay. Now, like this.

Gemma’s eyes were burning. Her round, green eyes bristled. Harry didn’t know what caused the
fire, but he knew the way her face was knit so tightly only meant business. She had things to say,
and Harry would need to hear them. He didn’t really want to. He wanted to disappear.

He sat down, defeated. There was nothing else he could do here. It was done.

Louis’ thigh was stiff against Harry’s. His eyes didn’t leave his hands. Harry didn’t touch him,
didn’t dare to. He felt drained. Lost. Ignored. He needed refuge. He —

“I’m going to use the bathroom,” mumbled Louis as Harry’s mum began cutting the cake. Harry
swallowed as Louis got up, plastered a smile full of discomfort at Harry’s family, and began to
move out of the room. Harry followed with eyes as Louis started to abandon him. Louis was
headed towards the hallway and the front door, not the place where the guest bathroom was.

“Uh, one second,” said Harry, and left the table, hurrying to catch up. Behind the corner, where
they were out of sight, Harry grabbed his hand. The boy swung around, and there was only anger
and betrayal in his blue eyes.

“You are a fucking arsehole, Harry,” he hissed. His jaw was clenched, and his chest heaved heavily
in the blue shirt.

“I know,” he whispered. At this point, he didn’t know if there was anything he wasn’t.

“I don’t want to talk to you. I’m leaving.”

Harry tightened his hold on Louis’ hand, stopping him from grabbing the door handle. “Can I drive
you home? Please. I don’t want you to walk in the dark.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Harry glanced over his shoulder and found Gemma
standing there. Harry sighed, displeasure causing a frown, and turned back to face Louis. He
looked stiff and frustrated where he stood, but his hand was still in Harry’s. His eyes watched
Gemma past Harry’s shoulder, and then they fell back to Harry.

“Fine,” he said quietly. He looked at his shoes, and Harry wanted to bury his face in his neck. He
wanted to hold him. To be hugged. He wanted to disappear. Perhaps if they went to Louis’ house,
in his bedroom, he could forget.

“Can I talk to you before you leave, Harry?” asked Gemma’s voice. It sounded hard around the
edges.

Harry exhaled. “Fine.” He grabbed his car keys from the top of the chest standing against the wall
in the hallway, and pressed them into Louis’ hand. “Wait in the car for me?”

“Whatever,” was Louis’ reply, and he slid out the house swiftly, letting the door fall shut behind
him. Harry breathed in, and slowly turned to face his sister. It seemed the consequences of his
actions were already catching up to him.

Gemma looked angry. Her face was set in a frown, and she pointed firmly at the little bench
standing at the wall. Her resolute expression told him he wouldn’t be able to leave without talking
to her first. He sat down, defeated. He hoped she wouldn’t yell.
“Harry,” she said, sitting down next to him. Their backs touched the wall behind them as she
continued, “I don’t know what went through your mind just now, but what you did wasn’t okay.”
The velvet cover on the bench was soft under his fingers, an absolute contradiction to how
Gemma’s words felt. “It wasn’t fair to our grandparents, it wasn’t fair to Dad, and it definitely
wasn’t fair to Louis.”

Harry swallowed. His throat felt thicker.

Gemma sighed. “Why? That’s what I want to know. Why would you tell them like this?”

Harry couldn’t speak. His throat felt near closed.

“Did Mum already know, or what? What happened tonight, really?”

Her questions were direct, on point. Her voice was firm and steady. Her hand touched his.

“She doesn’t talk to me,” he whispered, and his eyes prickled. “I’ve tried to talk to her about it and
she just shuts it down.”

Gemma stared at the floor just like he did. “And in return, you freak out and put everyone in the
most uncomfortable and awful situation? Do think our grandparents wanted to find out about you
like this? I know they are very progressive, but this wasn’t kind Harry. That out there was out of
control.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” he asked, throat hoarse and tight. “They don’t listen to me. They
don’t see —” His voice broke down. Wet tears were beginning to burn in his eyes.

“You?” she filled in.

He nodded and pressed his hands to his eyes, wiping away stupid, hot tears. Gemma grasped his
hand and tugged him closer. He was forced to meet her eyes. She looked determined.

“I know that our parents have put you through it, and, believe me, it’s not just you that I’m going to
have a go at tonight. Obviously, there is a reason why you didn’t just tell them alone, in a normal
way. I will talk to them, and then I will have a go at them again. They’re gonna’ get their shit
together. But so are you. Things like this, what you pulled, are unacceptable.”

Harry hated that her words were true. “Gemma, there is nothing normal about this. There’s nothing
normal about feeling like you’re gonna’ die if you tell your parents that you’re gay.”

She sighed and remained silent for a long minute. “I couldn’t know how you’re feeling, Harry, but
you’re right. Their behaviour isn’t okay.”

He exhaled. Hearing someone else say it; he felt like his feelings were finally validated. He looked
at his sister. Why had she left for university? Why couldn’t she have stayed? She was the glue to
the family. Without her, everything was falling apart. Harry needed her.

Gemma touched his red cheek, fingers light. “I love you, by the way. I don’t care if you’re gay. I
think it’s pretty awesome, actually… and I’m grateful.”

“For what?” What could possibly make her feel grateful for any of this? Harry wanted to die.

“That you have Louis. He seems like a pretty good guy to have.”

“He isn’t mine.”

Her eyes squinted. “It sure looked like he was defending you pretty well out there.”

“I don’t know, Gemma,” he said, breath shaking. “Sometimes I think he’s the nicest anyone’s ever
been to me, and sometimes he…” Harry’s stomach clenched. He looked up, meeting her gaze
head-on again. His voice was harder, more fierce. “Why is it that he can make me feel so good,
and just,” he snapped his fingers, “erase it so quickly, whenever he wants?”

Her answer took a moment, and her words were told slowly. “Harry, when people you care about
— truly and deeply care about — hurt you… it feels like the world is coming to pieces. By logic,
the ones closest to your heart can wound it with that much less effort.”

Harry gazed at her, anger and frustration almost detectable in his voice. “He just makes me feel
so… I feel everything when I’m with him. Why is that?”

She smiled. “You look at me like I would know.”

Harry frowned. She would know. She knew everything. Throughout his life, she was the answer
when all he felt was confusion. He needed them to go back to that.

Gemma pursed her lips. “Although, that sounds pretty passionate to me. And you’ve always been
very passionate and emotional, H. I know I’ve just told you to get a grip, but sometimes passion, at
least when it comes to love, is pretty great. I mean, I would rather there was passion in my life than
the opposite.”

Harry needed more time to digest her words. At that moment, all he could agree on was that Louis
certainly was passionate, too, and between them, there always seemed to be a fire blazing.
Nevertheless, Zayn’s words echoed within him.

“What if it’s a mistake?” he asked.

“What if it isn’t?”

He looked away. Inhale, exhale. “I need to drive him home. Can you tell them goodbye for me?”

“Sure.”

“I promise I will call them and apologise.”

“Good,” she nodded. “Now give me a hug.”

 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Louis was silent when Harry opened the door to the car. He sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed
and eyes cast out on the front lawn. Harry dropped Louis’ bag in the backseat, hopped into the
driver’s seat, and started the engine, reversing out onto the street. The absence of sound was too
much for Harry, and he quickly turned on the radio. It played a soft tune. He hummed quietly,
hoping the tension would break. It didn’t. Louis didn’t move an inch in his seat. Harry’s insides felt
full of rocks.

They reached Louis’ house much too soon. He didn’t want Louis to go. He didn’t want to go back
into his own house and face his family again.

He parked along the curb outside Louis’ home. He braced himself for the conversation. His voice
was quiet as he asked, “Are you still mad, babe?”

Louis’ head turned swiftly, movement hasty and full of fury. “Don’t call me that.”

“Louis.”

“I hate you.”

Harry didn’t like those words.

“I didn’t plan for this whole thing to happen.”

Louis’ eyes turned into slits. “I know you wanted chaos, Harry. Just like I know you kissed me that
time outside your house because you wanted your mum to see. You have an agenda with
everything.”

Well. Harry hadn’t actually considered that Louis knew it was for a cause. However, it wasn’t like
the kiss was purely intended for that. He also liked kissing Louis. He loved it, actually. It felt good.
Furthermore, he definitely did not have a secret agenda with everything. Rather, he seemed to make
rash decisions based on overwhelming emotions, which he came to regret every single time.

“I don’t,” he replied.

“So, what I said wasn’t true?”

“Fine.” He couldn’t exactly lie about it. “I knew she was looking.”

“I don’t get you!” Louis exploded. His hands rose in the air, strained and filled with exasperation.
“This is a secret, Harry! We don’t like each other — we have sex. And nobody is supposed to
know that! And then you kiss me in front of your mum and make a scene in front of your family on
your birthday, and it’s like you’re begging for attention! I just want to take you and shake you, and
explain to your thick head that this is not how you keep a fucking secret.”

His shoulders heaved, meanwhile, Harry stared back at him. If only Louis knew just how right he
was. Harry was begging for attention. It wasn’t like it was handed to him on a silver platter daily.
However, he hadn’t expected Louis to be so attentive to detail. He didn’t know that Louis could see
through him so easily.
“Sorry,” he pressed out, compelling the words to leave his mouth. Louis’ eyes were difficult to
look into, especially when they were gazing so powerfully, straight into his. Harry looked away
eventually, unable to hold it. How was it that Louis’ words, his actions — everything he did —
seemed to strike Harry to the floor? When did he ever win? Louis always won. “You forgot my
birthday,” he added.

“Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not as if we’re dating, or anything.”

Did that matter? Harry’s heart felt like it mattered.

“You usually remember anyway.”

He sighed. “Are you mad because of that now?” He crossed his arms again and glanced off
towards the house. “I gave you a present, at least. You didn’t get me one.”

“We were on break.”

“It was still my birthday, wasn’t it?”

“I haven’t gotten my gift, though.”

Louis huffed. “Well, you’re not getting it, either. I’m still mad at you for this stupid birthday
party.”

It had been a stupid party. Harry despised everything about it. Except for the little parts where
Louis had been soft and warm against his side, solid and connected. It sure looked like he was
defending you pretty well out there, Gemma had said. It was true. He had defended him. He had
said that Harry deserved to be the captain of the team. Did Louis really feel that way? Harry
couldn’t tell what Louis was thinking. He never could. His actions spoke nothing of his truth. Not a
shadow of it.

“If I apologise, will you let me sleep at your house?” It was a whisper. If he hadn’t been so utterly
desperate, he might not have dared to ask.

The words came after a hefty silence. “Don’t touch me, and don’t say a word.”

Louis then grabbed his bag from the floor, and scurried out of the car. Relieved like never before,
Harry hurriedly turned off the engine and followed him towards the house.

It seemed although Louis was angry, he couldn’t say no. He was Harry’s comfort yet, and Harry
was endlessly grateful.

Louis stopped dead once they reached the front door. Harry almost walked into him, but stopped at
the last second. Louis’ back was inches from Harry’s chest, and he wanted to wrap him up against
himself, to bury his face in his neck and stay there. But Louis sighed heavily, and to Harry, it
seemed like he dreaded walking into the house. He knew the feeling, but couldn’t understand why
Louis felt it.

“What?” he murmured.

“I haven’t talked to Lottie all day. Not since this morning.”

Harry could only see the rigidness of Louis’ shoulders. He wanted to put his hands there, under
Louis’ shirt, and smooth it out. “You don’t think she’s told anyone, do you?”
“No?” It was a question.

Harry couldn’t hold his hands back anymore. The anguish in Louis’ voice was surprising, but
awful. He did not in any way like it. His hand crept onto Louis’ chest, and he closed the space
between them, holding Louis back to himself. He hoped Louis felt better; he felt better.

“It’s okay,” he assured. “She wouldn’t say anything. I’m sure.” It was impossible to imagine
Louis’ sisters doing anything but protecting Louis. Their relationship looked like gold to Harry.

“You have too much faith in people,” stated Louis. It wasn’t true. Or was it? Either way, he
seemed to be putting too high expectations on other people, and when they couldn’t live up to it, he
seemed to fall back into an endless abyss of raking steel. Louis seemed to be the opposite. From the
outside, it looked like his friends and family were a close-knit hoard of yarn.

“And you trust no one,” Harry realised.

“I am being realistic.”

“Cynical.”

Yes. He was cynical, Harry decided. He didn’t seem to believe that many things could go well.
Was that why he trained so much? Why he overcompensated with schoolwork? He didn’t think
there could be natural, good fallouts…? Harry was the opposite. He always thought things would
end up well, and then he ended up disappointed. Harry didn’t know which way of life was
healthier.

“Same shit,” muttered Louis in response, and proceeded to unlock the door. Harry released him
unwillingly, but followed his lead when he stepped inside and slid out of his shoes. Inside, the
house was dark, but felt warm. They traipsed upstairs silently, avoiding the mean step, and Harry
closed the door to Louis’ room behind himself, turning on the light.

The room was messy. Harry hadn’t exactly noticed that morning, but the pillows were strewn
about, and the duvet was more positioned on the floor than on the bed. He remembered the feeling
of Louis against him all those hours ago. He remembered Louis’ body smeared with glitter from
that afternoon. Mostly, he remembered the way he felt against him on the sofa, murmuring quiet
words into his ear.

Louis got undressed in front of Harry. He dragged his trousers off and undid the buttons to the shirt
he’d borrowed. Harry watched his shoulders, with a slight sheen of glitter on, move tensely under
the lamplight. Harry didn’t want to control his hands this time. Louis could make him feel
everything, so why couldn’t he simply do it now? Harry wanted to feel all of Louis.

His hands brushed down Louis’ sides, from his ribs to his hips. His body was firm.

“Harry…” he sighed.

“Can we?”

Could Louis just turn around and make Harry feel better? He only seemed to feel better with Louis
all over him… His breathing shook a little as he affirmed his touch on Louis’ sides. It was
excruciating, waiting for his answer. His body… God. Harry pressed his nose into the nape of
Louis’ neck. Fucking please.

“You have some nerve,” said Louis, but he sounded breathless. Harry’s hand slid onto his stomach,
and he tugged him back against himself.
“Want you to fuck me, Lou,” he said, unable to control it anymore. “Haven’t fucked me properly
in weeks.” Louis was still, but his chest was rising and falling faster under his hand. His back
inched closer to Harry’s body, and to continue whispering was easy. “Want you to… Want you to
hold me down, tear me apart, and fuck me so hard I can’t walk for days.”

Louis turned around, fast and deliberate. There was something fierce in his eyes, and perhaps it was
only sexual desire, but Harry approved of it. Louis’ fingers clenched around Harry’s upper arms as
he steered him towards the bed. There, he leaned him back on it and hovered over him resolutely.
Whatever he had in mind, Harry would take it. So easily. Anything he wanted.

“Want me to wreck you then?” he asked. His hands were solid around Harry’s wrists, keeping them
above his head. All evening Harry’s breathing had been shot and his heart had raced faster than
ever. Right now, however, he felt calm. He nodded in response to Louis’ words, glancing down at
where their lower bodies connected. Louis’ thighs pressed against his, and his crotch was just
about an inch above his.

Louis’ nails dug into Harry’s wrists. He exhaled at the sharpness, but could do nothing but moan
when Louis leaned down and let his mouth graze Harry’s jaw. He needed Louis closer. Needed
him to press harder against him. He arched up, but Louis shifted away, leaving Harry’s lower body
isolated and yearning. He wanted more. He wanted Louis’ skin on his, naked. His perfect body on
his.

“Can we get the glitter?” he asked. “Please?”

“Are you for real?”

Harry nodded, releasing a small grin at the thought of it. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Louis agreed breathily. He disappeared from above Harry, and began searching through
his bag on the floor. “Get your clothes off,” he instructed, and Harry undid his shirt and tossed it
away, squirming out of his jeans. Once they were gone, he lied down on his back again. This time,
he felt a tiny bit nervous. There was an authority in Louis’ voice. Having sex, there usually wasn’t.
It was exciting.

Louis turned back to the bed after a moment, now grabbing a small spray bottle. “How do you want
it?”

How did Harry want it?

“On you. Your chest.”

“Fuck, all right.”

Louis directed the bottle at himself and began pressing down on the cap. The gold landed on his
skin as if it belonged there, smoothly attaching itself to his skin. He looked perfect. Harry had
never seen anyone so menacingly beautiful.

“Get over here. Now,” he demanded.

Louis dropped the bottle, and made his way onto the bed. He fit himself between Harry’s legs,
which Harry instantly pressed around him. His hands traced Louis’ jaw as he looked down, taking
in the golden glitter gleaming on his chest.

“I’m granting you three wishes, birthday boy,” announced Louis, voice quiet but steady. His hands
grabbed Harry, pressing his lower body impossibly close to his.
“Are you a genie?” asked Harry. Or the most enticing creature Harry had ever seen.

“Well, if you rub me right…” Louis laughed at his own joke, and Harry couldn’t help but join him.
It was stupid, but Louis laughing was intoxicating. Harry’s hands traced down from his jaw, across
his chest, down to his crotch. His hands brushed over Louis’ boxer briefs, feeling him almost
completely hard. Louis rolled his hips down, and Harry met his movements, holding in a moan.

“What can I choose then?”

“Anything you want.”

Anything. And Harry could choose.

“I want…” He was distracted by the way Louis’ stomach felt against his hand. “Fuck, I love the
glitter.”

Louis took his hand and pushed it further up his body. He stopped in the middle of his chest, and
kept it right there. Harry looked up, nearly unable to catch his breath. Because he felt Louis’ heart
beating, right there, under his palm. And Louis pressed his hand closer. Excess glitter fell down
onto Harry, and it was almost too much. Did Louis feel like all of this was overwhelming? Harry
did. Louis’ heart was right under his palm.

Harry restrained himself from thinking too far ahead. From imagining things he wouldn’t be able to
take back. He didn’t want to imagine it, because then he couldn’t be disappointed in the end. He
removed his hand from Louis’ heart, and brought it into his hair, brushing the caramel fringe from
his face. His blue eyes glistened. He was grinning, down at the glitter falling between them. Harry
kept his hand on Louis’ neck, refusing to touch the spot above his heart again. That spot wasn’t
his.

“I want your neck,” whispered Harry. He pressed a kiss up onto the underside of Louis’ jaw. He
smelled… wonderful. “And then I want your fingers, deep. And then…” He wanted Louis to pick.
He wanted more than any of those things for Louis to do what he wanted. To show Harry what
actually went through his head. “You choose,” he decided.

“I choose?” He seemed bewildered that Harry would willingly let him call the shots.

“Yes,” he said, decisive. “You choose. Whatever you want.” And… “Consider us even.”

He seemed delighted by it. “Fuck. Okay. What first?”

Harry just wanted Louis, and the sooner he could have him the better. “Your fingers. God, I want
your fingers.”

“Turn over, Harry.” He leaned off and Harry had never done anything ordered by Louis faster. He
flipped, and soon felt the scent of the sheets below him. Still rumpled from that morning, but
smelling of apple and strawberry as usual. Harry wished his sheets at home smelled like it.

Louis shuffled forward between Harry’s legs, and his hands ran down his sides until they landed on
the top seam of his underwear. They stopped there, fingers digging into the top of Harry’s arse.
Harry’s mouth was open, lips pressing wet marks to the sheet as he heard Louis’ low, low,
arousing groan. There was sweat at Harry’s hairline, and he reached for the pillow at the edge of
the bed and pulled it closer. He needed something to ground him.

Louis’ hands pulled his boxers down, Harry pressed the pillow closer. He couldn’t see Louis but he
could feel him all over. His heart thrummed against his ribcage, and when Louis’ hands spread his
cheeks apart, he felt like the burning desire was going to undo him. Louis had stood behind him
like this so many times before, and yet the deliberation and authority that Louis inhabited at that
moment made it so much more exhilarating.

“You’re clean right?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The obligatory check.

Louis’ fingers tickled the insides of Harry’s thighs as he pushed his legs further apart. He was
taking his time. Normally, Harry liked that. He liked when Louis watched him, took him in, and
embraced what he truly found pleasure in. Harry didn’t deny himself that. He could watch every
part of Louis and not feel a drop of guilt. Now, though, he needed him to hurry up. He needed to go
where they both wanted it to end.

“Can I go first?”

“Huh?”

“My wish first.” It wasn’t a question anymore. Louis was in control and Harry didn’t even need to
tell him that whatever he wanted he was on board. Harry would do it all for him.

Harry stilled as he felt Louis’ warm lips plant a kiss on his left cheek. Louis didn’t react, only kept
him still under his hands, thumbs digging into his skin and pulling him further apart. Louis’ kisses
moved, trailing towards the middle, and when his wet mouth met Harry’s hole, he couldn’t do
anything but groan, broken and submitted, into the pillow.

He couldn’t breathe, because Louis’ hands were keeping him still and firmly deciding where
exactly Harry should be and what he should do with his body. It was astounding, the way he could
submit Harry into this state of desire tangled with acceptance.

Louis’ tongue was wet and moving teasingly, lips pressing and sucking in varied movements. He
seemed to know precisely what to do to bring Harry to that odd edge of wanting and thinking he
couldn’t do it anymore. The sensation was too much, and simultaneously too little.

“Louis,” Harry groaned. His neck was sweaty, and his back felt just as damp.

“You okay?” His breath was hot on his skin. Harry couldn’t even bring himself to reply. He could
only groan at the feeling of Louis’ mouth on him. Louis took his silence as encouragement, and
pressed his mouth right back on Harry. His tongue was still there, wet and hot, letting saliva trickle
down Harry’s skin. It was… He didn’t have words for it. Harry had never felt something so
ferociously intimate.

He reached for his cock, but Louis’ hand stopped him. “No,” he said. “Don’t touch, Harry.”

“I can’t.” He was melting, falling. Fainting.

Louis’ voice was steady. “You can.”

Harry inhaled, breath shaking. He removed his hand, and but gripped onto Louis’ arm. “Please,” he
begged. Their fingers interlocked. He exhaled.

“Keep your legs apart then.”

Okay. Harry could do that. As long as he had something to hold on to. He spread out, feeling
Louis’ saliva slide further down along his skin. He squeezed his eyes closed.
“Jesus,” he heard Louis moan. He placed his mouth back on him again, and it was almost on the
edge of too much.

“Louis,” he gasped. “Fingers, Lou, fingers.”

“You ready?”

“Yes, fuckhead,” he whined. “Just, fuck. I want —” Louis leaned down, and tried to remove his
hand from Harry’s. He didn’t want him to let go, so he refused, keeping their hands forcefully
intertwined. Louis, instead of releasing Harry’s right hand, used his left fingers to spread his cheeks
apart. His tongue, warm, wet, and then… fingers. Louis’ thumb, and then his pinky. Harry
squirmed against the mattress, his cock pressed tightly against the sheets. Louis’ hand kept him
from touching. He’d said no.

“More,” he asked. Implored. He didn’t actually know what he sounded like. Everything was
becoming a blur. Eventually, he couldn’t do it anymore. “Cock. I want your cock, Louis. I need it.
Now.” He groaned. His mouth was wet against the pillow. His exhales were wetting the fabric.

Louis didn’t waste time. His fingers disappeared and though Harry couldn’t see him, he felt him
reach for the condoms. Still, his right hand was clenching Harry’s. Harry could not let him go.

He jerked when he felt a few dribbles of lube against himself. “Louis,” he hissed.

“Sorry.”

Harry felt the length of Louis against his arse. He waited. Then he slowly felt him press inside.
After so much time of waiting, pleasure and pain combined, Harry’s eyes nearly rolled into his
head. His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and he gasped as Louis bottomed out.

“Move,” he pleaded. He was about to combust. Louis did as he was told for about the first time in
his life. He picked up at a fast pace, and Harry’s mouth fell entirely open against the mattress.
After only minutes his body clenched up into pure climax, and he came with a low cry muffled by
the pillow. His body collapsed. He felt shock waves pulsating through his skin, pounding in his
head.

“Go on,” he urged Louis. “Finish.”

Louis thrust inside him again, and Harry’s legs shook. The orgasm yet pounded like a heartbeat,
from his groin to the very edge of his skin. It didn’t take long before Louis finished with a moan,
his upper body falling flush against Harry’s back. His face melted into Harry’s neck where he
breathed warmly. His lips made Harry shiver.

He stared at the sheet, his body feeling a mess as his pulse pounded in its veins. “Oh, my God.”

Louis hummed and slowly moved off. He pulled out of him, the movement causing Harry to whine
just a little. He was sensitive. Undone. Completely.

“I’m going to sleep for fifteen hours.”

He heard Louis make a little noise in response, and he rolled over. He felt Louis’ eyes land on his
stomach, and he looked down, realising there was cum all over his stomach. Louis lifted his hand,
and Harry remembered that he was still gripping Louis’ fingers. He let go, noticing Louis’ slight
frown at the stiffness in his bones

“Sorry,” murmured Harry. Louis shrugged. He removed the condom, tying it up and tossing it
towards the bin in the corner of the room. He sat back on the bed. They both direly needed a
shower, but Louis didn’t seem to care. Harry reached for the duvet, throwing it over himself. He
held it up, letting Louis in underneath.

“Should we save the last thing? The wishes?” whispered Louis.

“Save it,” Harry nodded. He couldn’t take anything else. Louis’ face was close, his nose only
inches from Harry’s cheek where they lay.

“Saving it.” It sounded like a promise. Louis closed his eyes and Harry followed suit. Next to
Louis, he could sleep.

He woke up sometime in the night. The room was quiet except for Louis’ slow breathing. Harry
opened his eyes, finding Louis on his back, head on the mattress. His chest was bare, the duvet
down at his waist. His chest was full of glitter, but it was smeared, uneven, and flaking off. His
ribcage rose and fell. His hair was displayed across the sheets. Louis didn’t move as Harry rose
onto his elbows, leaning back slightly as he watched him sleep. He seemed dead to the world,
unaware and at ease. Harry felt like it was the only time he didn’t feel a tumultuous discord inside
himself; when he was sleeping and oblivious of the real world. The real world seemed to be in a
loop of emotional chaos.

Right there, in the room, there was no chaos. Despite the messy sheets, the untidy room, the lamp
still on, and the grime of cum and mushed glitter, there was only peace. Louis breathed softly, his
thin lips parted just a tad. Harry lifted his left hand, and let it lightly settle on Louis’ chest, in the
middle. This time, Louis’ heart was pounding evenly, steady. Harry swallowed.

The past twenty-four hours had drained him, and Louis, too, probably. So much had unravelled and
none of it could be taken back. Harry always regretted his decisions, but he did not regret the
intimacy the previous evening had instilled.

With it came acceptance. Louis breathed just as soundly, despite Harry’s palm resting flat across
him. His heart beat as solidly.

What Gemma said made sense. The reason Louis’ words the morning before hurt so excruciatingly
was because Harry cared for him. The ones closest to your heart could break it that much easier,
and Louis was there, in Harry’s heart. It was the truth. He had fallen for him. When or where he
didn’t know, but he had fallen. He had fallen fast, easy, and emotionally unprepared for it.

Harry lied back against the mattress. He removed his hand from Louis, and pushed the pillow in
under his cheek. Louis’ eyelashes were long. His nose was straight, cheekbones high.

Harry inhaled, held it, and exhaled.

Okay.

Harry awoke later that morning to the sound of muffled voices. He blinked, confused as he pried
his eyes open. It turned out Louis was awake. He was staring at the ceiling, his phone pressed to
his ear. There was noise coming from it, but Harry couldn’t hear enough to know what was going
on.

Louis looked… Harry wasn’t certain. The room was bright, the sun slipping in through the corners
of the window, around the edges of the blinds. Louis was frowning. There was a downward tilt at
the corner of his mouth. Harry didn’t like to see him frown. He lifted his finger and touched his
cheek.

“Angry. Hedgehog,” he said, voice hoarse with sleep.

Louis scoffed, frown becoming a glare as he rolled over and gave his back to Harry. He felt
suddenly far away. Harry scooted closer and wrapped his left arm around his body.

“Seriously.” Louis’ voice was unexpectedly hard. “Harry.”

He felt warmth drain from his body. “Wow,” he said, feeling his face form into a burned frown.
“Pissed of much?”

He never knew what Louis was thinking, but he didn’t foresee that Louis was going to be rude and
bad-tempered this morning, especially after how… Harry looked away from Louis’ shoulder.
Especially after how perfectly lovely he’d been the night before.

“Fuck off.” Louis pushed Harry’s hand off him and move away.

Harry swallowed, forcing himself not to get upset. Louis’ sharp words were back again. Harry
couldn’t go back to that state of pain again. He couldn’t. It would be too much for him to handle so
soon. Instinctively, he decided to not allow himself to be tossed aside. Not after last night. Louis
couldn’t choose when he wanted Harry and when he didn’t. He scooted closer again, and placed
his hand back across Louis’ stomach.

“Are you angry?” he asked.

Louis grunted. But the sound wasn’t right. He looked tense. Harry thought back to the phone call,
the strain in Louis’ neck, and the downward tilt of his mouth. He didn’t move from Harry’s touch
this time, but rather sank back against him.

“Angry, or sad-angry?” asked Harry, voice quieter. Was it possible that Louis was just… upset?

He grunted again, in the same specific way.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“Niall’s angry with me.” His voice was strained, almost breaking. At first, relief ran through
Harry; Louis wasn’t upset with him. However, the relief dissipated promptly. Louis was upset, and
he had just told Harry about it.

“Why?” he asked.

Voice still broken, he said, “I’m neglecting him.” Harry had never heard Louis speak in that way.
He sounded… vulnerable. “I haven’t told him about… you know. So, he thinks I’m being weird,
keeping stuff from him.”

Harry tried to process it. “You kind of are.”

The edge in Louis’ voice returned. “Thank you, Harry. Seriously.”

“I mean,” he tried to amend, “why don’t you just tell him…?”

Harry had needed to tell Zayn. If he hadn’t at the start, he would have broken down completely.
Zayn had saved him more than once from going completely mad. He needed Zayn and his
uninhibited support. And while Harry didn’t know every aspect of Louis’ life and relationships, he
supposed everyone needed someone to vent to. Otherwise, you’d get lost going down bad trails and
never find your way out.

Louis seemed to find the idea demented. “Oh, please!” His hand rose in the air in front of them,
waving it carelessly as he continued, “I’m sorry, Harold, but not all of us are fucking blessed
enough to be able to blabber to everyone who will listen about our sex lives with boys!”

Harry considered his words. While Louis’ notion certainly was a little off the mark, Harry hadn’t
actually thought this was an issue for Louis. He had always felt like if Louis called up his mum and
told her about everything, he would not be met by silence. There was no way his family wouldn’t
rally around him. Harry didn’t know Louis’ family, but he simply couldn’t see it. He just knew
Louis’ mum worked around the clock to make sure he and his siblings had a good life. In that
sense, Louis had everything and he didn’t even know it. There was only one reason he could think
of that would shut down any thought to tell his best friend about their relationship.

“… Niall’s homophobic?”

“No,” he hissed immediately. “Jesus. But that doesn’t mean I want to tell people. Not yet. Not
ever? I don’t know! Maybe I have a little self-preservation? Or want to think things through before
I fucking yell at my parents that I’m having sex with a boy.”

Well. Harry certainly could use gaining some self-preservation, but he had thought this particular
thing through. He’d needed to tell his parents about his sexuality for a while. If he hadn’t, he’d
have gone insane sooner or later. He might not have gone about it the best way, but couldn’t force
it down anymore. It had been killing him from the inside. Considering it, he felt a weight off his
shoulders.

However, the spicy note in Louis’ words as he mentioned the night before didn’t go unnoticed.

“So, you’re still mad about that?” Harry asked. It was rather difficult, trying to understand what
Louis was thinking. His best friend for years wasn’t homophobic, and yet he couldn’t tell him the
truth about Harry, even though it seemed to be creating cracks in their relationship.

“Yes! Don’t think what happened last night changes that.”

“Louis,” said Harry, frowning as he tried to puzzle it. “You don’t trust people enough.” It had been
the same thing the night before, as they spoke on the porch. “Like, isn’t Niall your best friend?”

“Yes.” His answer was spoken as though obvious.

“Why don’t you trust him?”

He stuttered, “I, I do.” He stopped talking. He sounded confused. Harry wondered if it was actually
Niall that was the problem, or rather what was churning in Louis’ mind. “I trust him with my life,”
concluded Louis a beat later.

Harry wished he could see his face. It would make it easier to decipher whatever was chugging
round the cogwheels in his mind. He couldn’t see him, though, and he could only draw from his
own experiences. Without Zayn, Harry would be lost. Harry didn’t think Louis wanted to hear what
he had to say about support systems.

“I could think of some words to tell you, but I think you’d hit me.”

“Save them.”
“Okay.”

The rest of the morning passed smoothly. Louis fetched tea and toast from downstairs, and they ate
in bed in silence. Harry wanted to ask things. He wanted to know about Louis’ supposed job and
enquire about Niall, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to break the comfortable atmosphere revolving
around them. When they finished their teas, Louis placed the cups on the desk.

“Come,” he said, nodding towards the bathroom. And yes, Harry did need a shower.

They locked the door that wasn’t adjoint to Louis’ room, and let the hot water rain down over them
for a moment before Louis pulled Harry in, who had no objections. Rather, Louis’ actions were
encouraging. He seemed like he really wanted Harry there, holding and touching him with careful
certainty. So, Harry enveloped Louis in his arms and pressed him tightly to himself as their bodies
became wet. He pushed Louis to the wall and engrossed himself in his body. It felt like a piece of
heaven. Louis never protested, only tugged him closer, fingers light in the hair at the nape of
Harry’s neck.

They went back to bed, hairs wet, and golden glitter removed. Louis pulled off the dirty sheets, but
couldn’t be bothered finding new ones. Instead, he wrapped the duvet around them. Louis went
back to sleep, and Harry watched him. Then he closed his eyes.

A knock on the door awoke them later.

“No,” was Louis’ immediate response. He placed a hand on Harry’s arm as he began to stir,
wondering if he needed to roll off the bed and hide.

Another knock on the door had Louis calling out, “What?” in exasperation.

“Louis,” it was a girl’s voice, Lottie, “we’ve got to go shopping. There’s no food!”

“Are you sure?” he responded.

“Yes, idiot. Get out of bed and out here. Leaving in ten, come on.”

Harry watched Louis, slightly amused by the words of his sister. She sounded like him, her voice
sharp and decisive. Louis appeared reluctant to go. His face was twisted into another one of those
frowns from that morning. He was… Harry didn’t know why, but he believed Louis was
conflicted.

“Why do you think so much?” he asked, honestly. Harry never seemed to think. He just did.

“My life isn’t exactly easy, is it?”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know enough to say whether that was true. All he
knew was that Louis seemed to complicate things unnecessarily.

“You’re making it much more complicated than it has to be.”

Louis didn’t seem to like the words, because his right eyebrow twisted a fraction. “Just… just go
back to sleep, Harry.”

He didn’t want to upset Louis. He didn’t like angry Louis. He liked the one who slept peacefully
next to him and touched him gently. He lied down and burrowed into the pillow. He felt Louis
leaving the bed, and regretted his movements, just like he perpetually did when Louis was moving
in his opposite direction. He listened to Louis get dressed, and right before he left, he heard him
murmur, “See you later.”

The door closed and Harry was left to his own devices. He tried to sleep, but it was impossible. He
was alone in Louis’ room, in his house. He flipped over, and stared at the white ceiling. The
normal thing would be to go home. He didn’t want to go home, though. He didn’t want to face his
parents. He’d already been reprimanded by Gemma, but it wasn’t getting reprimanded by his
parents for his behaviour that worried him. It was about his sexuality, of course.

Last night was fucked up, he texted Zayn. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. The curls
were getting a little too long. He needed a trim, but he couldn’t be bothered.

Tell me babes, read Zayn’s reply a few minutes later when Harry had pulled the clothes from the
night before on. Later, he responded. It was a little much for a text conversation.

He glanced about the room. It was messy. There were clothes on a chair, the blow dryer rested on
the desk, still plugged in, and Louis’ football gear lay in a heap in the middle of the floor. The can
of glitter sat on top.

Memories of the night before echoed. Harry hadn’t ever experienced sex like that. It had been
different, yet again. Sex with Louis simply got better and better. It was quite incomprehensible.
How was it that Louis could do things like that? Everything he did made Harry crazy. And his
hands, so soft and firm all at once. Harry knew why, but he still couldn’t keep from asking himself
how Louis did it. How he made him feel like this. Furthermore, Harry didn’t know how Louis
could do it when Harry barely knew anything about him. How could you fall for someone whom
you knew nothing about, really?

Harry began organising the bedroom. He didn’t know if it would piss Louis off, but he needed to
do something. He pushed the dirty sheets into the hamper in the bathroom, used Louis’ toothbrush
to brush his teeth, and continued putting things back in their usual place around the room. He knew
the order of Louis’ chest drawer, knew where he kept his laptop and phone chargers. He knew
where the Grease DVD was supposed to be. Yet it always seemed to change spots around the room
each time Harry saw it.

He tried to establish what he did know about Louis: He loved football, fiercely. He wanted to play
at the United academy. He had a mother who worked restlessly at the hospital. He also had several
sisters, although, he only seemed to live with one of them. He had a father; Harry had used to see
him at their football matches every week over the past years, but recently he wasn’t around much.
Harry knew what he looked like, vaguely. Had he moved away, though? Harry wasn’t sure. Did
the other sisters stay with him? Furthermore, Louis had a job. His car was kind of old. His mother
worked a lot. Harry hadn’t known things were this tough for them. He felt almost guilty for not
noticing.

He placed Louis’ shoes in a row against the wall, next to the door. He had Vans, Converse,
sneakers, and running shoes. Harry made sure they were in order of colour.

He knew that Louis wasn’t impulsive. He seemed ever contemplative. He was also passionate, and
didn’t change his mind often. When he knew something, it was the truth. When he didn’t, it
seemed it was a question as big as the one of life.

Harry also knew that Louis had friends. He had plenty of them. Niall was his best friend, even if
they appeared to be at odds currently. He had Stan and Oli, and he seemed to be good friends with
Liam. Things like that, relationships, seemed to come easily to Louis. To Harry, they were kind of
hard. He had a few people, like Zayn, and perhaps Gemma when she was around. Maybe Liam,
too? He wasn’t certain yet. Harry also had his grandparents… to whom he needed to apologise.
He found new sheets in a wardrobe in the hallway next to the stairs, and he changed them with only
minor issues. He sat down on the bed once the room was organised. He dialled his grandfather
first. It seemed easiest, but his heart pounded.

“Hi,” he breathed after his grandfather had answered with a stern, “Styles.”

Harry swallowed. “It’s me, Grandpa.”

“Harry, my boy,” he said calmly. He didn’t sound angry, or upset. Harry hadn’t had time to gauge
his reaction the night before, but his grandfather’s voice sounded the same as always, sturdy and to
the point.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Sorry for last night.”

“Harry…” He didn’t say anything at first. The silence felt heavy.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to be so… I didn’t mean it.”

“Harry,” his grandfather repeated. Harry squeezed his eyes closed. He pressed one of Louis’
pillows closer to his stomach. “You’re my boy.”

“What?”

“Harry, you’re still my little boy. No matter what. I love you. You just need to work on your
manners is all.”

It felt better than Louis’ bed did when he needed it. It felt better than heaven, hearing those words
coming from someone in his family. Harry swallowed, trying to break his voice free from the
restraint of tears.

“I miss you, Grandpa,” he cried.

“I miss you, too, son,” he responded and his voice sounded just as croaky.

Harry wiped at his falling tears. “Do you think I can come over and garden one day this spring?”

“You’re always welcome, Harry.”

It felt easier after that. He called the rest of them up. They told variating answers of “never mind all
that” and “hope you feel better soon”. His grandmother Evie, however, told him she loved him, in
her sweet, sweet voice, before they hung up. It made him tear up again. He loved them all. He
didn’t know why he didn’t see them more often. He had amazing grandparents. Why couldn’t they
be his parents? All five of them together. He’d love that.

Harry’s father rang him in the middle of the day when he had curled up against the headboard and
was watching Netflix on Louis’ laptop, recovering from the draining conversations with his
grandparents. He stared at the phone, unease grappling with a vague curiosity. He didn’t want to
talk, but he wanted to know what his dad was going to say. Unwillingly, he lifted the phone. The
call ran out of rings, and went to voicemail. His father didn’t leave one, but five minutes later,
Harry received a text.

Harry, Gemma is leaving tomorrow night. Your mother and I would like to have dinner with you
two before. Don’t stress. We just want to see you.

It appeared like his father knew going home was a thing of great anxiety for Harry. Or it was
Gemma who had written the message for him. Either way, Harry hoped it was a promise of a
dinner under peaceful circumstances. He wanted to see Gemma before she left. He kind of wanted
to see her right now. However, he received a text from Louis.

Won’t be home until later. You should probably leave by four if you haven’t gotten home yet.

Harry considered his message. Perhaps if he stayed, then Louis could give him some strength
before he had to go home.

Will you give me a back rub if I wait until you get back here…?

No

Pretty please lou :( my shoulder hurts

From when?

Yesterday

You’re so full of shit. Fine.

Harry grinned at the message. Louis was definitely softening. A month ago, something like that
would’ve been entirely out of question. Harry leaned back against the bed and tried not to smile. It
didn’t work. He covered his face with the duvet, but it only smelled like apple and strawberry.

Fuck.

When Harry walked into his house that night, he met Gemma at the bottom of the stairs. She
opened her arms silently, and he stepped into them. She wore a brown cashmere sweater, and it felt
nice against his cheek. Standing a few steps above him, she was taller. Harry liked not being the
tallest at times. Sometimes he wanted to be protected.

“Did you sleep all right, love?” she asked, squeezing him. He nodded. “Is Louis okay?”

Harry nodded again. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

“I called them. I said I’m sorry.”

“Good.” She pulled away, getting a proper look at him. “Are you okay?”

He tried to smile, but it broke halfway and shaped into a pained grimace.

“Oh, love.” She wrapped her arms around him once more, and he felt his shoulders shake as she
held him. She hugged him, arms warm as she swayed him until her sweater was spotty with tears
and snot.

“I ruined your expensive shirt,” he hitched after several long minutes.

“I don’t mind. As long as you feel better.” She squeezed him one last time. She smelled like Dior,
but faintly like her. Memories of early teenage years erupted. “Wanna’ order takeaway?” she
asked.
They spent the night in Gemma’s room. Harry’s parents seemed to keep to themselves, and Harry
was grateful. He needed another day to face them. Together, they watched tv-shows and YouTube.
Gemma showed him pictures on her phone from her university, and Harry’s own future seemed to
dangle in questions somewhere in the back of his mind. Chelsea and London seemed a given thing,
but he still wanted to be at Manchester United if he could. Moreover, he wondered briefly where
Louis was going to be in six months from then.

Sunday supper approached faster than Harry would’ve liked. While he was occupied wanting to
head to Louis’, or hiding in Gemma’s room attempting to persuade her to quit her studies and live
in his room in the role of a personal mascot, the hours swiftly blew by. Finally, regretfully, he was
standing there at the dining room table, hands clutching at the fabric of the chair in front of him.
Gemma stood next to him, her presence reassuring. His father was beginning to sit down on the
opposite side of the table, but most of Harry’s brain capacity was engaged with discerning each and
every noise from the kitchen. When his mother finally stepped inside the room, she was holding
two large serving platters.

Her eyes remained on the table as she set them down in the middle. “Dinner, by virtue of
Alessandro’s, in town.” She fiddled with the gold bracelet on her wrist as she sat down.

Harry and Gemma followed, quietly settling as Harry’s father began pouring some red wine into
the glasses atop the table. They had steak. Harry didn’t know what cut it was, but it certainly
looked medium-rare. There were also pretty, round, globules of puréed potatoes, and oven-roasted
vegetables. It tasted good because, of course, supper and wine from Alessandro’s always tasted like
how expensive food was supposed to. Gemma held up the conversation for the first ten minutes,
meanwhile, Harry sipped idly on his wine and worked on his cut. Two nights ago, when they’d sat
there, he’d freaked out. He didn’t want that to happen again. No more freak-outs, he told himself.
No out-of-control actions.

“So, Harry…” said his father once the conversation topics invented by Gemma were exhausted. It
was coming, Harry thought. Now, it was time to address it. Now they would talk about it. “We
didn’t know that you were still playing football on such a serious level.”

Harry looked at him. He looked at his mother. And that was the last time that Harry had hope that
they would ever discuss it.

“I do,” he said. “I’m getting into Chelsea Academy. Not business school.”

Harry’s father raised a brow. “Chelsea?”

He shrugged, swallowing. “Well, they want me if things go well… but I still hope United will take
me. If the season goes well.”

His father glanced at Harry’s mother. She raised her head, and finally… finally, she looked at
Harry. Her eyes were green as ever, and although deep lines marked the soft skin below, she
looked like she breathed a little easier. Harry didn’t know why. Maybe because she thought this
was finally over. Brushed under the rug.

His mother nodded, lips pressing together as soon as she’d spoken. “It sounds great.”

“We, uh… We had actually thought for your birthday we’d change in the Rover for a new one, but
discussing it after Friday, we’d like to instead get you some tickets to see the next… champions
final. Whenever that is.”

Harry looked at his napkin. “Champions League.” He nodded. “Sounds fantastic, Dad.”
“What a nice gift, Dad. And Mum,” said Gemma encouragingly. Her foot bumped Harry’s under
the table.

“Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome,” said his mum.

“Welcome,” added his father.

The talk of football promptly ceased. The talk of homosexuality was non-existent. Harry finished
his food and swallowed down his wine. Tomorrow it was back to school, but Harry wanted to get
out on the footie pitch and rub hard shoulders with his teammates already. He needed to waste
energy. Quickly.

Once dinner was done, and Gemma was finishing up her packing with the help of their mother,
Harry stood at the table with his father, empty dishes in front of them.

“I’m gay,” Harry said. His father stopped moving, just for a second, the dirty plates in hand. “Don’t
forget it,”

His father nodded. “It doesn’t matter to us, Harry.”

“It should matter.” It should matter enough for a brief little comment. But fine. If they wanted to
forget it until the day Harry was getting married and starting a family, then fine. Harry felt tired
enough of laying expectations on their behaviour.

“Let’s… Just let your mother process, Harry. Just let her take her time with it.”

“Fine.” Let us prioritise her. “I’m going to bed.”

“Goodnight, son.”

Going to bed that night, Harry’s mind tampered with reluctant acceptance. The fact that his parents
rather discussed and accepted his football career, which had been non-existent to them for the
whole of his life, meant that they weren’t going to discuss his sexuality in the slightest form.
Whatever. Did he need them? When he was at Chelsea, no. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. Chelsea was
beginning to feel more and more inviting, located on the other side of the country. He’d be happy
there. Maybe.

For the next few weeks, he imagined himself living in London. He imagined training at Chelsea,
playing matches at Stamford Bridge, going out in London to celebrate victories in Mayfair or Soho.
In London, there were gay bars. However, in London, he’d still be a football player. In England.
Icing on the cake.

Nevertheless, each day he stepped out onto the pitch at practice, he wondered what it would be like
at the training grounds down south. When he researched strength and flexibility exercises in his
free time, he imagined the luxury of having a team physician, nutritionists, and personalised
training regimes. Then he’d look at the boys on the pitch and know that even though they didn’t
always get along, he might miss them.

After the weekend of his birthday, he stopped lying about where he went at night. He told his
mother he’d be staying the night at Louis’, his boyfriend’s house. She didn’t object, because it
meant discussing the fact that he was a homosexual man who slept next to another homosexual
man at night.

Well. Harry still had no idea what Louis preferred to call himself. Was he gay? At least interested
in men. Bisexual? Was he interested in girls, still? Harry had no idea. It wasn’t like Louis was
willing to go into it. He wasn’t even mildly open to discussing it. Harry had tried to pry it out of
him once, but was silenced with a look that told him he’d be out the front door if he said another
word. Harry was much too inclined to stay in Louis’ bed to push it.

February was… weird. Harry nearly slept more in Louis’ bed than anywhere else. Louis was warm
and didn’t complain about the pillows anymore. Harry could take his pick. Harry pretended it
didn’t make his stomach flutter when Louis wrapped his arm around him in bed before they fell
asleep. He knew Louis would pretend it’d never happened the next morning. Still, Harry sensed a
change. Not between them only, but in Louis.

Since their talk about Niall, Harry began noticing it. He was usually so wrapped up in avoiding
Jasmine and hoping to see Louis in the open spaces at school that he hadn’t actually understood
that Louis was more often apart from his best mate than with him. One day at school, Harry
noticed Niall, blond and loudly laughing, standing in the corner of the cafeteria. Louis sat at a
table, next to Liam and Sophia, pointedly not looking at his friend. Harry remembered the look on
Louis’ face when they’d briefly talked about it. Louis had said that he was pushing Niall away
because he was seeing Harry and refusing to share it. It looked like Niall wasn’t having it.

A part of Harry felt guilty, for being the living problem between them. Another part of him didn’t
feel remorseful at all. Louis Tomlinson was… special. He was special to Harry. He was slowly
becoming (or had become already) a fixture in his life. Louis still had uncontrolled (or savagely
controlled) messy hair. His eyes were still remarkably blue. His skin was vaguely tan even though
they hadn’t yet crossed into spring from winter. Strangely, when Harry looked at him, though, he
didn’t see annoying nagging, and didn’t prepare himself to be chewed out. He saw comfort. And
pleasure.

Had Louis changed? Or had Harry just opened his eyes?

Just about living at Louis’ place, Harry realised more things. He realised that Louis’ sister, Lottie
— or Charlotte — had a best friend called Alice. Harry could hear her through the wall, chatting
on the phone about her new boyfriend, Martin. Lottie was loud, spoke sharply, and even though he
barely saw her, it was like living with a neighbour who’d tell you her whole life. Albeit
unintentionally. Harry didn’t great about accidentally eavesdropping, but he did enjoy finding out
things about Louis he wouldn’t otherwise have known.

On the phone, Lottie mentioned her sister. Fizzy. Harry hadn’t really considered Louis having four
sisters much. Harry basically lived door-to-door with Lottie, and he’d understood the young twins
he’d seen at the match one time lived at Louis’ father’s house. He guessed Fizzy also did. Louis
didn’t mention her. He also never mentioned his father. Not a single cell in Harry’s body dared to
ask him about it.

Moreover, since Louis’ parents were clearly separated, Louis’ mother worked plenty. More than
plenty. Sometimes it felt like Harry needed only hide during certain hours of the day. Worknights
meant longer shifts and more money Harry assumed, and thus most of the daytime Louis’ mother
spent sleeping. Since Lottie knew he was there at any time Louis saw fit, Harry could roam around
the house as he pleased.

It wasn’t comfortable, though. He’d use the bathroom and Louis’ room, but he also did need to eat
at times, so he slowly got to know the kitchen in the house through short visits. Moreover, in
Harry’s training bag, there were now several layers of clothes next to his cleats and shin guards.
His shaker and container of protein powder stood on Louis’ desk under the mirror. Harry refused to
go home when it wasn’t necessary.

He was a generally light sleeper, though. Sleeping next to Louis was ever comforting, but spending
most of his nights there meant he was well-rested every morning. His body was getting used to it.
Louis still slept heavily, and if Harry wanted morning sex, it would take him ten minutes to get the
guy out of a sleep-drunken state. Instead, Harry fetched tea. He traipsed downstairs, put the kettle
on, and by the time Louis woke up he’d be back in bed, ready to squeeze him. Harry wasn’t willing
to miss out on that part of the morning. Being next to Louis, in a bed, was the best part of the day.

One morning, at six-thirty, he silently moved downstairs to the kitchen. He put the kettle on, a blue
old thing with limescale in the corners, and picked out his favourite of the mugs on the shelf. Once
it was finished, he sat down at the table, inhaling cinnamon and apple-scented steam. Last night,
Louis had spent the better of the twenty minutes of Harry’s shower staring at a picture of his friend
hanging out with other people on social media. Harry had wanted to kiss his frown away. He
wanted to kiss him all the time lately.

A chair creaking awakened him from his ponders. He looked up, eyes wide and surprised. His
morning thoughts weren’t usually interrupted. Moreover, it wasn’t Louis standing there. It was his
sister. Her blonde hair was up in an untidy ponytail, and her brows were arched quizzically. Harry
hastily glanced down at himself, knowing very well he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

She looked stern. “Do you believe you live here, or something?”

Harry swallowed. The girl in front of him looked like a female version of a perturbed Louis. “No?”
he replied. Lottie hadn’t ever spoken to him directly.

“You’ve been drinking my favourite tea,” she said accusingly. Nonetheless, she sat down on the
opposite chair. Her blue eyes stared at him yet.

“Oh.”

“Why?” she pressed as if his reply wasn’t close to sufficient.

Harry hesitated. “Because… it’s the best one?”

Louis’ sister’s eyes stayed narrowed, just like Louis’ would. She then leaned further back in her
chair. “You’re not all bad, Styles.”

“Thank you?”

She nodded. “That’s my cup, too.”

Harry slid the tea mug across the table. “I haven’t touched it yet. You can have it if you want?” It
was her house after all, and it appeared Harry had been stealing her things. He didn’t want to cause
any trouble.

“Please,” she scoffed. “You’ve left the tea in for too long anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“The steam is too faint now. You need to drink this tea when it’s really hot. And only leave the tea
in for three minutes.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “You know your tea.”

She shrugged. “Louis’ shit at making tea. I’m the only one in this house who knows apparently.”

“He puts Earl Grey in —”

“Lukewarm water and thinks it suffices,” she finished.

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Harry had noticed it, and Lottie had obviously had a lifetime of
experience. He tugged the teacup towards himself again, taking a small sip from the warm drink.
Lottie sighed from across him, wiping sleep from her eyes.

“He can’t really cook,” added Harry.

There had been a soup mishap the week before, when Louis had brought two bowls upstairs one
evening. Harry had wanted pizza, but Louis insisted on healthy choices. The soup was vaguely
green, and Harry had suspected that pieces of leek, potato, and asparagus simmered somewhere
within. Louis had sat down on the chair at the desk, and Harry remained against the headboard of
the bed. The bowl was hot, and he soon noticed very salty.

“What’s in this?” he asked, frowning. It tasted… wrong.

“I don’t know.” Louis shrugged. “Whatever we had in the fridge.”

Harry was all about getting those veggies in, but… “What is that thing?”

Louis licked his spoon. “What thing?” He’d pulled his knees up to his chest, eyes on the laptop
where Manchester United were playing Brentford at Old Trafford.

Harry felt a strong, bitter sensation in his mouth. He lifted another spoonful to his mouth. “There’s
something…” He felt it then. The texture. The flavourless, soft yet crunchy texture of it. “Louis
—”

He thought he was about to vomit.

“What?” He sounded annoyed, eyes tearing away reluctantly from the laptop screen.

Harry jerkily put the soup bowl down on the nightstand and pressed a hand to his mouth. The
salt… the texture… the absolutely undeniable non-flavour that somehow had a taste.

“What is it?”

“I can’t eat it.” He shook his head, cringing, and walked out of the room. To the bathroom. Was he
going to vomit? Maybe? He washed his mouth in the sink. When he looked up, Louis was standing
in the doorway. Harry could see him scowling through the mirror.

“That was unbelievably rude.”

“Louis, that is… Whatever is in that thing, it’s inedible.”

His eyes narrowed. “Rude.”

Harry sighed, but he could still feel the taste in his mouth. “Louis, come on.”

He shook his head. “No. You. Rude.” He began to walk back to the room.

Harry followed, quickly. He grabbed onto Louis’ arm, pulling him towards himself. “Lou… I’m
sorry. It’s just… inedible.” He tried not to laugh.
Louis didn’t laugh. “I made that for… us.”

Harry’s chest swelled a little. “For me?”

Louis looked away, clearly pissed, and a little embarrassed it seemed. Harry’s insides fluttered.
Louis had made him soup. A very disgusting and inedible soup. But Louis had made it. Harry
wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He couldn’t keep from smiling when his lips touched
Louis’ ear. The boy stayed in his arms, even if he pretended it was reluctantly.

“I just…” Harry had searched for words. He couldn’t let Louis suffer, but it was impossible not to
laugh. “I just hate cauliflower,” he lied.

Now, in front of Lottie, he could tell soup incidents weren’t rare. She looked like a worn-out
mother as she spoke. “Doesn’t even know how to cut onions.”

Harry grinned. He sipped on his tea, and Lottie got up to make herself breakfast. She cut avocado
and placed it neatly on her toast. Harry finished his tea.

“You want any?” she asked, looking up when he began to move from the table.

“Another day, maybe.” It was almost seven, and Louis’ alarm would go off soon. Harry wanted to
be by his side when it did. Maybe he’d get five minutes of touches if he was.

It seemed the longer Louis’ friendship with Niall was iced, the fewer plans he made outside
school. After practice, he’d do homework, and more often than not, Harry would invite himself
over as soon as possible. Louis looked tired after school, and while Harry was beginning to feel
better than he had all year, it pained him to notice the sadness in Louis’ eyes. He attempted to
persuade him to tell Niall about them, but it didn’t work. He even tried to give him a blow job to
enhance his chances of conviction, but Louis wasn’t having it. And the longer Louis didn’t talk to
his friend, the harder it got for him to do it. It wasn’t like Harry couldn’t recognise himself in that.
It wasn’t easy telling someone you were gay. Harry had struggled plenty, and who’s to say he’d
done it in an appropriate manner anyway?

One night, when Harry was staying at home for the evening, Louis called him. Harry had spent the
afternoon after footie practice with Zayn. They’d been in his backyard for an hour, talking as Zayn
smoked and Harry did knee exercises on the grass.

“You proper like him, eh?” Zayn had asked. Harry had been interrupted by Liam Payne walking
into the backyard, greeting them good-naturedly.

“Like who?” Liam asked, smiling as if it was nothing of great importance.

Harry shrugged, glancing away towards a pair of trees as Liam traded Zayn a couple of rolled-up
pound notes for a tiny batch of weed. “Someone,” he said.

“The bloke has a fat crush,” Zayn announced, staring at the sky as he exhaled smoke.

“Cool,” Liam said. Then he’d started rolling a spliff mixed with tobacco, and Harry had rolled his
eyes and begun texting Louis.

That night it was difficult to fall asleep. Harry wanted to see Louis, but his mother had been home
all evening. It was difficult to sneak in, and Louis didn’t think pretending they were just friends
was a good idea. Apparently, his family knew of his hatred for Harry. Harry pretended the words
hadn’t stung.

It was early morning when Louis called him. Harry had tossed and turned for hours, getting small
batches of sleep here and there, but always seeming to wake up, body searching for the non-
existent heat of Louis. It was just a few minutes to five, and Harry grabbed his nearest clothes and
brushed his teeth, before jogging through the dark blocks until he reached Louis’ house.

“Why are you up five in the morning?” he asked once Louis opened the door. Louis looked
severely sleep-deprived.

“Why are you?” he countered as they walked upstairs, quiet and whispering. Harry couldn’t exactly
tell him the truth; he could hardly sleep without Louis anymore.

“Fair,” he said instead, and fell back onto the bed, grabbing Louis’ waist in the go. He’d barely
seen him all day (footie didn’t count because he wasn’t allowed to touch Louis at footie). He
pushed their lips together, ever in love with the feeling of Louis’ mouth on his. He wanted to be
closer, yearned to be near him. Louis was warm, and welcomed his movements, hands squeezing
around Harry’s hips as Harry crawled on top of him. His fingers laced through Louis’ fluffed hair.
He moved his lips to Louis’ neck and only stopped kissing him for the sake of breathing. Louis
smelled… amazing. Like he always did. He never stopped Harry from inhaling every part of his
body anymore.

Tonight, though, Louis didn’t seem quite in the mood. His movements were there, hovering, but
there was no real fire. Harry didn’t mind it, but he didn’t like the lack of drive in Louis. Harry
kissed the underside of Louis’ jaw, fingers touching him gently.

“Maybe you should just talk to him,” Harry murmured. Louis instantly became tense, and Harry
feared he might shove him off. He didn’t, but Harry knew Louis’ mind was going in circles. “I
know you don’t want to, Lou, but you’re miserable. You’re so sad-angry all the time, babe.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. Thankfully, Louis ignored it.

“He doesn’t answer my calls, Harry. And I’m not sad-angry. I’m just annoyed is all.”

“Lou. It’s okay to be sad sometimes.”

Louis looked up and Harry leaned back. He found blue, striking eyes drilling into his. Harry
swallowed. “Are we going to start a shrink session now? Do you want me to braid your hair?”

Harry hoped the knife in his chest didn’t show on his face. Just when he hoped Louis was starting
to open up, he closed the door. “I’m trying to help you, Lou,” he replied.

“I don’t want your help. I don’t need you to console me.”

Harry’s teeth bit into his cheeks, holding all of his body intact at once. He shrugged and moved off
him. His body felt cold. “Fine. Whatever,” he whispered. He swallowed, trying to get off the bed.
“I’ll just go home then.”

“Harry, it’s half six.”

“Well, you don’t need me here, so.”

“Stop being a drama queen and come to bed, for God’s sake.”

Harry stared down at him. Louis looked like he wanted him to stay. Or rather, he didn’t want Harry
to go. Harry loved it and simultaneously hated that he did.

“I’m not having sex with you now,” he stated. He wasn’t. Not when Louis clearly didn’t want the
comfort he offered.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” said Louis, voice urging Harry back to bed. He opened the duvet and
crawled in beneath. He didn’t look at Harry when he said, “Just… stay, for the love of God.”

Harry stared at him. He wanted to jump into the bed. But he wanted to Louis to want him to be
there, as much as he wanted to be there.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He was —

He was in —

Shit. He was in —

Inhale, exhale.

Fuck.

He began removing his clothes. He opened Louis’ drawer and found a fresh t-shirt. He lifted the
covers of the bed and crept in beneath, back towards Louis. Not soon after he felt Louis turn over.

“I’m not some charity case, Harry,” said his voice. He was certain of his words.

“Good,” he replied. “Neither am I.”

“So…” Louis paused. “Let’s just… be miserable. Together.”

Together.

Harry rolled over. Louis’ hair was everywhere, but he looked serious. He didn’t want pity. Harry
didn’t want pity, either. He wanted Louis against himself, no matter the circumstances. “Just don’t
cry when we sleep together, all right?” he said.

Louis cackled. Harry pretended the sound wasn’t heart-warming. “You’re the only one who’s done
that, loser.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rolled back around, but still could hear Louis’ low
snickering. “It’s not funny.” It wasn’t, he was sure of it, but he couldn’t help liking the way Louis
sounded when he was happy.

He moved closer. Harry shivered as he felt the bridge of Louis’ nose press against the nape of his
neck.

“Do you want me to cuddle you?” he asked.

Harry stared at the empty room, focused only on the words Louis had just murmured. His heart
pounded in hefty strokes.
“I thought we decided we weren’t going to do that? We’re not charity cases.”

“As if you don’t end up wrapped around me like a bloody octopus in the morning anyway.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed. He didn’t think Louis had noticed it through his sleep-worn state. “That
happened once, Louis.” It was a lie. It was more or less a constant thing. “I’ll punch you in the face
if you mention it one more time.”

Louis’ arms wrapped around him tighter. Harry felt like butter in the sun. It was absolutely clear to
him that he would do anything and everything to feel enveloped like this by Louis as much as he
possibly could. Harry would do whatever Louis wanted him to do. Being miserable together was
fine by Harry. The only issue was that he was slowly feeling less and less miserable as the weeks
passed.

They won their qualifier at the beginning of March, and since the football team hadn’t lost a single
match all season, the qualifying result sent them directly to the quarterfinals of the championship.
Harry played well. Coach Abrahams praised him warmly and assured him both Chelsea and
Manchester United would know in detail about the header he’d scored. Louis had made the assist
of another goal. They’d been good. They hadn’t fought. Louis was still a little selfish on the pitch,
but Harry wasn’t invisible anymore. At least not as invisible as he used to be.

One Tuesday, Harry was sitting with Zayn and Liam on the bleachers. Zayn was smoking, as usual,
and Liam was staring at a textbook with pursed lips. Harry felt slightly ashamed he hadn’t studied
much the last few months. It was easy to ignore it when he knew it didn’t matter. Chelsea seemed
much like a sure thing; Coach kept reminding him at least once a week.

“What are you thinking of?” asked Harry. Zayn was watching a couple of girls a few steps below
them.

“That we should throw a party.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I think I’m getting sex-deprived.”

Harry chuckled. It was kind of impossible to imagine Zayn not getting whichever girl he wanted.
He was insanely attractive with his raven hair and God-like jawline, not to mention what a kind and
genuine person he was.

“Don’t laugh,” Zayn glared. “Just because,” he glanced at Liam who was still nose-deep in his
textbook, and continued with a wave of his hand towards Harry, “someone’s getting lucky doesn’t
mean the rest of us do so often.”

“You’re getting lucky, eh?” hummed Liam. He didn’t look up until he’d finished his page in the
book.

“No,” reiterated Zayn.

Liam looked at him. “I mean Harry.”

Harry shrugged, and his eyes fell on his sneakers. They were dirty.

“Who’s the…” Liam stopped himself for long enough that Harry glanced up to meet his gaze.
Liam had the tiniest of wrinkles between his brows. He didn’t look anything but calculative. Liam
didn’t continue, and his eyes went straight back to his book.

Harry looked away, down at the footie pitch. It felt strange, sitting on the bleachers, watching the
girls’ team practice, rather than being down there himself. Harry turned back to Liam, who firmly
kept his face aimed at the book.

Liam might have figured that Harry wasn’t straight. Was it the way he looked? Or how he acted?
Harry couldn’t know. Or maybe simply the fact that neither he nor Zayn ever mentioned a girl,
only a person. Strangely, Harry didn’t mind if Liam knew about him. What did it matter now? His
parents knew and Zayn knew, Louis’ neighbour knew, and Gemma did, too. Lottie knew.

Harry tested it out. “I got… someone. I can’t tell you who. The person… isn’t mine, but I see
them… a lot.”

Liam looked up, hesitant. “Sounds really nice, Harry. Is… are they nice?”

Harry dragged the sunglasses that had been tucked into his hair down to cover his eyes. He looked
at his legs that stretched out before him in blue jeans. Was Louis nice? Perhaps it wasn’t the best
word to describe his general persona, but there was kindness in him, deep below. “Yes,” he
decided, watching the footie pitch. “Yes, he… they’re nice.”

He didn’t look behind himself to see Liam’s response, but Zayn reached out and squeezed his leg
with warmth and a smile before he got up. “Gotta’ make business. See you later.”

Harry also stood, noticing Liam’s girlfriend approaching from a nearby building. He also saw
Louis by her side. They were heading towards the pitch. Harry wouldn’t have minded staying next
to Liam, to sit with Louis in the sun, but it wasn’t possible. Ostensibly, he and Louis loathed one
another.

He left with a brief goodbye.

Twenty minutes later he received a text message from Louis.

Did you know?? about niall did you know???

Harry had no clue what it meant. Did he know what about Niall? He’d barely even met Niall
properly. He’d seen him around at some party, and he was in his P.E. class, but there was nothing
of obvious importance that he could recall. Harry didn’t like the feeling the message evoked. Louis
seemed like he was spiralling.

Know what?? Lou is everything ok, he replied. He felt worried. This Niall problem was messing
with Louis, and Harry felt a small frustration within himself. If Louis would just tell his friend,
then all of the pain would be over. Louis didn’t need to feel such sadness. If he could just say it,
then he’d would feel better. But Louis was stubborn, and Louis never listened to Harry. Harry had
gotten used to it.

He didn’t receive any response.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting in maths. Equations were on the whiteboard, and his brain
couldn’t seem to focus. He received another text, but not from Louis.

Harry, I’m still so sorry. I’ve acted horribly. I’ve really thought it over, and I would just like to
apologise to you officially. I’m sorry. I’ll never bother you again but I need to see you face to face.
It was Jasmine. Harry’s intestines seemed to ball up into yarn. He hadn’t heard from her in so long,
and yet fright returned in full speed. However, this time it faded quickly. It was almost surprising
to him, how fast his nerves returned to normal. It was different. He supposed her threats didn’t
matter anymore, because all of the important people already knew. He stared at the screen and
wrote.

Jas, if you want to apologise then do it by leaving me alone from now on. No more texts, no more
talking.

It was so odd, how empowered he felt writing it. She didn’t have control over him anymore. His
phone buzzed in response, and he looked at it with concern. It turned out it wasn’t from Jasmine. It
was from Zayn.

Your bloke’s unhinged.

Harry stared at the words. What was up with his messages today? First Louis, then Jas, and now
Zayn? What was going on, honestly? And what the hell had Louis done?

Harry wanted to catch Louis before footie practice that afternoon, but he didn’t manage to grab
onto his arm before their teammates crowded around them, much too close for proper conversation.
Louis didn’t look good. He looked… torn up. His eyes were lined with darkness, and his face was
full of torment and sadness. Harry’s whole body was pained watching him.

It got worse during practice. Louis missed passes. He missed an open angle where he should have
scored. His eyes were on his shoes and he didn’t notice when an opposing player carved in behind
him to receive a vital ball. Harry took charge of being captain, even though Louis called it on
Tuesdays. Louis just wasn’t there, mentally. He was off somewhere else. Harry couldn’t keep his
eyes off of him. His blue eyes were edged with red. Had he… cried?

Harry didn’t know it would irk him so much. Who had done what? When? Where? Did Harry need
to punch someone? Was it Niall? Harry needed to sort that bloke out. Where was he?

When practice ended, Harry wanted to snatch Louis and run away with him. However, he noticed
Coach Abrahams instantly walking up to Louis, so he settled for grabbing his things and heading to
the locker rooms. He noticed, of course, when the boys murmured about Louis’ unnatural state, but
he couldn’t cut in. He wasn’t supposed to care.

They got into the showers, and Harry let the hot water fall over him for minutes. The look on
Louis’ face, the way he’d behaved, so disoriented and lost, sat agonizingly in his chest.

“What the fuck is that?”

Harry looked over his shoulder. “What?” Oli and Stan, together with Ed and Jonah, were the only
boys in the showers. They were all looking at Harry with smirks on their faces. He shook his head
at them, “What, lads?”

Oli raised a brow and pointed at his rib. Harry glanced down and rapidly realised what they were
looking at. He had a bruise. Well, it wasn’t a bruise, it was a large love bite. Louis had left it days
ago, and it was beginning to turn purple.

He swallowed, a little distressed. “Nothing.”

Stan cackled loudly, as if Harry’s answer was one of absurdity. “It’s not fucking small, Harry.”

“It’s obvious!” Jonah grinned.

Oli wiggled his brow. “Tell us.”

Harry expired a hard puff of breath and turned back to face the wall. “It’s none of your business,
blokes.”

“You’re so boring, Harry. You never share anything,” Stan huffed.

“Just tell us who did it!” Oli agreed.

Harry threw a glance behind himself. “Boys, I know we shower together every day, but you staring
at my naked body is beginning to feel a little awkward.”

They grumbled, and Stan grabbed his towel off the opposite wall to cover himself up. Oli did the
same. Jonah turned back to his own shower. Harry rolled his eyes at them.

“One day, Styles,” said Stan before he left. “One day you will crack.”

“Not likely,” he hummed, and splashed water on his face. He stayed for another couple of minutes
until all the shampoo suds were gone and only Ed was left in the shower. Harry wrapped his towel
around his waist, and Ed followed his lead.

Walking back to the lockers, Ed said quietly, “I didn’t you know had someone.” His voice was
gentle. Harry had always liked him for his easy-going nature.

He shrugged, beginning to dress.

“Is it serious?”

He swallowed. Was it? Every part of him felt like it was.

“It’s…” He hesitated for a second before he finished. “It’s good sex.” The rest he couldn’t even
confirm himself. Ed nodded, but didn’t push for more.

Afterwards, Harry walked to his car, thinking about Niall. It was becoming a bit much. It bothered
Louis too much. How could Harry get a hold of Niall without revealing anything? It was
impossible. What was he supposed to do? As far as he could tell, Louis was the only one who
could fix any of it. It was a shame Louis didn’t seem to want to accept that. If Harry could fix all of
his own problems with one action, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Harry pushed his sports bag into the backseat of the Rover. As he closed the door, he heard hurried
steps on the ground behind him. He turned and found Louis right there, jogging up to him.

“Hey,” he exhaled, stopping in front of Harry.

“Oh, hey,” he responded, relieved to finally get Louis alone. “I saw you were speaking to Coach,
so I thought I’d talk to you later.” He gazed at him. “Are you okay? You looked so down before, I
thought — your text…”

But Louis just shook his head. He sounded out of breath. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Harry looked at Louis, properly. He appeared very different from practice, he realised. Louis
wasn’t drenched in torment anymore. He looked… spiffy. “What’s going on?” He didn’t recognise
this Louis in front of him.

Louis dropped his bag on the floor. Before Harry knew it was happening, he felt Louis’ hand
gripping his neck, tugging him down into a fierce kiss. Harry almost fell forward, feet stumbling
 and mind becoming a blank canvas. Louis’ lips were warm. His kiss was enthusiastic. It was
different. Louis’ kisses were often intense and overwhelming, but just like having sex with him
seemed to be ever a journey of new feelings, this kiss was also new. It felt… excited. Happy.

Harry was absolutely breathless when Louis let go of him. He felt like jelly. Slime and honey.

Louis leaned back, his hands still knitted in Harry’s t-shirt sleeves.

“What was that for?” Harry whispered, face heated, and knees awfully wobbly.

Louis shrugged. “Can’t explain it.” Then he stood up on his toes and shaped his soft hands around
Harry’s warm cheeks. His voice was clear and severe. “Thank you.” He pressed a firm kiss on his
lips.

Harry’s heart plummeted through his body. He only existed in the flash of Louis’ sincerity.

“Come over at nine, yeah?” he said, retreating. He looked eager.

“Okay,” exhaled Harry.

“See you.” Then he smiled. It was that charming, sexy, and absolutely mischievous smile that
Harry loved so dearly.

Harry watched him jog down the lot to his car. He watched Louis disappear down the road. He
looked until the road was empty.

Fucked.

That was the answer to Ed’s question. Was it serious? Well, Harry was fucked. Truly and
genuinely fucked. He had fallen, and he had fallen deep. He was in love with Louis Tomlinson, so
yes, it was fucking serious.

Chapter End Notes

to those of you rereading (and cross-reading it with unbelievers in particular) i realise i

jumped the gun on the ending. sorry! Louis' thank you is in it now :) xx
 Chapter 12

To say Louis was excited when Harry came over that evening was an understatement. Harry was
concerned by his surprising behaviour, but nonetheless optimistic. He didn’t know whether Louis’
mood had shifted back to sad again, but he hoped not. He liked the way Louis had kissed him, full
of desire and delight. Most of all, his mind kept shifting back to those two words: Thank you. He
had no clue what they referred to, or what caused Louis to lay them out so openly, but they
ricocheted through his body for hours after the fact.

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis said when Harry stepped into the bedroom. He was subsequently
persuaded to lie down on the bed, naked with Louis behind him, kissing his skin. Naturally, he
didn’t put up much of a fight.

Harry didn’t hesitate to show Louis how much he wanted him back. The next morning, he had
breakfast with Lottie (smashed avocado toast with chili flakes), went to school, drilled the last of
the preparations before Friday’s match into his teammates’ heads at training, headed home to
shower, and flung himself back out the door to get to Louis’ house.

There, in his room, he buried himself in Louis. He dug his face into his neck and touched him until
Louis slid his hands into his boxers. Sleeping with Louis was a nightly dosage he needed. Having
sex with him was a taste of heaven. Something new and explicitly overwhelming happened every
time, and Harry had not just fallen in love with Louis, but in love with his body. Maybe he’d fallen
in love with Louis’ body first, and the rest later. Either way, the whole of Louis was killing him
softly. Over the next few weeks, Harry would want him in the shower, on the floor, and in the car.
He would want Louis to grab him on the football pitch and snog his brains out on the fresh-cut
grass. He’d desire nothing more than the whole of him every minute of every hour of every day.

Harry found it easy to show Louis how much he desired him. All he needed to do was get naked,
climb on top of him, and grind down on him for long, long minutes. He moved up and down,
clutching at Louis’ body beneath. Louis’ head was on the mattress, eyes closed and mouth opened
in pure ecstasy. Harry felt the same. He was shivering as sweat simultaneously burned at his
hairline. He wanted to come, but more than that, he wanted Louis to. He wanted to feel his body
react under his. Harry’s heart raced as he moved, and all he could think about was the burning in
his thighs and Louis twitching under him.

Louis nearly pushed him off the bed when he ground down in a firm movement. Louis’ hips jerked
in reaction, and Harry groaned, gasping and curving backward. Again. He wanted Louis to do it
again.

“Cramp!” Louis gasped. “Hip, cramp, cramp.” Harry opened his eyes with a start, suddenly
realising that Louis was in distress. He’d been lost in the senses of their bodies blending, and it
took him a moment to mentally wind down. He slowly rose, but Louis’ fingers immediately dug
into his skin, stopping him. “Don’t! Don’t move.”

It took Louis a minute to relax. His face was contorted in pain, but Harry was still on him, hands
pressing down on his chest. Once he seemed to have recuperated, he exhaled heavily, body turning
lax. Harry pinched him. Was he just going to stop making him come? Or what?

“You good?” he asked when he opened his eyes.

“Yeah,” Louis breathed. “C’mere. I’ll fuck you.”

Better. Great, even.

His hands clutched Harry’s hips, and he rolled them over with ease. The movement was practiced
by now, and Harry didn’t mind it. He opened his legs and pulled them up, fitting Louis
comfortably in between. Louis’ arm snaked around his waist, holding him up slightly and reaching
better angles. He moved into him with sturdy, hard movements that make Harry’s eyelids flutter.
He could do nothing but attempt to hold on, allowing small moans to leave his mouth at every
other thrust. Louis leaned further down, and Harry could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. His
own body seemed to tingle and tighten with every movement.

Louis kissed him. His breath was warm, and he moved in for a second kiss immediately. Harry
could only lie there and take it. All of it. His body, his kisses… Harry wanted it. Every fibre of him
seemed to cry out for it. Louis touched him with star-dusted fingers, and Harry shaped into
diamonds and jewels underneath him. So easily.

Fuck.

He groaned aloud as Louis moved into him again, and he reached for the headboard to grab onto
something. If he didn’t hold on, he might’ve floated off into space. His other hand gripped Louis,
but he didn’t see him anymore. His eyelids were fluttering closed, his breathing off the chart, and
all he could do was let it happen, let himself feel it. Louis’ face was pressing against his throat,
forehead and nose lined with sweat, and… Harry felt it. He knew he loved this person on top of
him, but like this, he felt it. It slid down onto him and grabbed his body in forceful fists.

Simultaneously, Louis’ fingers clutched his hair. His hand tugged, sharply and unexpectedly, and
Harry felt the vague pain mix with pleasure. He moaned and shakily said, “Again. Do it again,
Lou.”

He followed his orders. He tugged on Harry’s hair once more, and his hips bucked up at the same
time. Consequently, Harry was finished. Done. He had never felt such pleasure, without touching
himself. Louis only appeared to get better and better every time they did this. Furthermore, each
time Harry learned something new about himself. Louis seemed to bring him to a new world of
sexual luxury every moment they were naked.

Louis squeezed Harry’s hip, bringing him back on his wavelength. Harry hissed slightly at the
feeling of him moving, while his orgasm still rang in his ears. His breathing was shot, and all he
could do was lean back, neck arched and throat exposed. Louis had removed the condom and was
begging to wank himself off, towering over Harry’s body as he did.

“Can I come on you?”

Harry’s breath stuttered. Of course, he almost said. Of course, Louis could come on him. He could
come on his throat, in his mouth, on his chest… inside him. Anywhere he wanted, he could ask for
it, and Harry would agree so simply. He didn’t know why, but he was willing to do anything with
Louis. It didn’t make sense, because people did have boundaries even with trusted partners, but it
seemed Harry couldn’t think of any. With Louis, when they were naked and touching one another,
he felt safe, appreciated, and pleasurable.

However, of course wasn’t an answer everybody would give to something like that, and thus Louis
had asked.

Harry nodded. He slid down further on the bed, Louis hovering above him. Harry could take him in
his mouth, and let his cum slide down his chin… Louis came all over Harry’s chest. He felt drops
on his collarbones as he stared up at him. His mouth was open as he watched down on Harry, his
upper chest red and flushed. He had a young athlete’s body. Muscular, but not over-pronounced.
His neck looked tense with tightened muscles, and his eyelids fluttered over blue, blue, blue eyes.
As he gazed down at him, and his cum trickled over his collarbones, Harry felt his insides turn
blue. Blue seemed to invade every part of him, flowing in movements both powerful and effortless,
gentle and comfortable. Blue conquered him, completely and absolutely.

Could he tell? Harry wondered as he exhaled and bit his lip, staring up at him. Could Louis tell that
Harry was in love with him? Could he see it in his eyes, where he lay covered in him, admiring
him, burning and trembling still?

Fuck. Harry didn’t even know how he’d gotten there, but Louis made him feel things. Everything.
All the time.

He was fucked.

He was covered in sweat and cum, and he didn’t fucking care that he looked like a mess, because
Louis didn’t care. He slumped down on the bed and kissed Harry’s teeth-bitten lips, and didn’t care
that his filthy chest pressed into his.

“That was…” Harry didn’t know how to finish the sentence. He let his palm splay flatly on Louis’
chest, feeling his heart pound strongly beneath it. “That was good.”

“You’ve got to ride me more often.”

“My pleasure.”

Louis rolled his eyes at the words, but his body angled towards him. He bent down, and slowly,
slowly his teeth scraped over Harry’s nipple. Harry gasped at raw the sensation, moving
underneath Louis’ touch, but not necessarily trying to get too far.

“Sensitive?” murmured Louis, and his voice, dark and husky, sent shivers across Harry’s body
again. He couldn’t answer, only nod. Louis leaned down again, and this time his lips sucked his
nipple into his mouth.

Louis was playing with his emotions now.

Louis was going to kill him.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned, but his fingers slid into Louis’ hair, holding him there. Was there any
way in which Louis couldn’t turn him on? It seemed, not. In. Any. Way.

His tongue moved across Harry’s nipple, and Harry was starting to become much too excited again
when there was a very hard and loud knock on the door. Extremely slowly, the door began
opening. Harry shrunk down on the bed and quickly hid under the duvet that Louis offered.

Lottie poked her head into the room. “So, are you two all finished up now?”

“Lottie, Jesus! Boundaries!” Louis yelled, and Harry made sure his body, chin to toes was covered
up entirely. Louis was bare-chested, but wasn’t entirely covered in cum so Harry considered him
all right. Louis’ sister didn’t seem to care for his words, and instead trudged directly inside and sat
down on the chair at the desk. Harry’s body was still eager for Louis, and he stared at the ceiling,
counting invisible spiders, thinking about unsexy things. It was difficult with him right by his side,
naked under the duvet.

“I didn’t even know you were home. Christ,” muttered Louis. He pushed the duvet further up
Harry’s chin, even though the evidence of what just happened was already hidden. He seemed
annoyed. Moreover, Harry had nothing against Lottie, but he was much more interested in hanging
out with her brother alone. “What is it?” asked Louis. “Why can’t you wait until later? This is so
inappropriate.”

“If I wait, it’ll be night before you two have left the bed. Don’t say anything, trust me, you two can
go on for a while!”

Louis made a disgruntled noise, and plastered a hand across his eyes. “Ew, Lottie! The hell!”

“What? It’s true!” She crossed her arms indignantly. “Anyway, you promised to go practice driving
with me today. You’ve been holed up in your room with Harry all afternoon, but you promised.”

Louis grimaced. “I thought you went out.”

For a second, Harry felt as though Louis would rather spend time withhim than with his sister. It
felt… well, it wasn’t a kind thought, but Harry liked it — Louis preferring him. He leaned further
back on the bed, most of the cum on his chest wiped off against the sheets. He crossed his arms
behind his head, and his eyes followed Louis’ movements as he reached over. He touched Harry’s
collarbone briefly, making his heart take a double-beat, and subsequently elbowed him in the ribs.

Lottie continued, “So, are we going, or what?”

Harry was too preoccupied glaring at Louis to listen too closely. Louis was squirming on the bed,
lying down and then shooting up into a sitting position as if he just couldn’t make up his mind.

“Fine,” he eventually sighed. Harry tried not to let his face fall. He wanted Louis to stay. Perhaps
he was being selfish, though. Lottie needed her brother sometimes.

He realised one thing he hadn’t before: Louis was very kind to his sister. If Harry was correct in
believing Louis would’ve rather liked to stay in bed with him, then he was actively prioritising his
sister’s wishes over his own. It was sweet, and another thing Harry could add to the list of why
Louis was a nice person. He was a good brother.

Lottie began leaving the room, and Louis started to get off the bed. Harry’s hand touched his upper
arm, making him stop. Louis’ eyes were soft when he looked back at him.

“Can I stay here for a while?” he asked quietly. He hadn’t expected Louis to leave, and he wasn’t
very interested in going home. He tried to read Louis’ face. It wasn’t like he was supposed to be
there, in Louis’ room, whenever he wanted; it had just happened. It wasn’t like Louis had said “mi
casa es su casa”. Harry had just accidentally ended up living there. “I mean, I — I can just stay in
your room, and I’ll lock the front door from the inside and sneak out the back door later.” He
swallowed. “I promise I won’t snoop. Promise.” Well, more than he had already. “Louis, please.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” he murmured, and Harry felt warm. Louis’ eyes were still soft. Louis was
softening. He was determinedly not the twat from last autumn term.

“Or you can just come with us?”

Both Harry and Louis’ heads jerked to the side. Harry hadn’t realised she was still in the room.
“Why are you still here, Lottie?” asked Louis, pissed again.

She shrugged. “You could, and then I’ll have two teachers, not just one, and we can drop you off
later so you don’t have to worry about sneaking out.”
Harry glanced at Louis. Well. It beat sitting alone in his room all night. Louis had a shift at the fro-
yo shop that evening, and if Harry did end up staying, he’d have to wait for a while for him to get
back. He hadn’t expected Lottie to help him out, but she was clearly a sweet girl.

“Sure,” sighed Louis, and Harry bit down a small grin. “Whatever. If you want to.”

“Okay,” he nodded. They would be hanging out in front of another person. That hadn’t happened
before. But anyway, it was “whatever”. It was cool. It was just a small thing… Harry absolutely
murdered another smile trying to get through.

Louis glanced down at where Harry’s hand was still wrapped around his bicep. He looked up
again, meeting Harry’s — probably much too excited-looking — eyes.

“Right,” said Louis. “Lottie, get out so we can shower first.”

His eyes didn’t leave Harry, and as soon as she’d closed the door behind her, Louis brushed
Harry’s hair from his face and dove in to kiss him. He wasn’t certain if Louis could feel it, but
Harry was smiling through the whole thing.

They took a quick shower. Harry tried his best not to kiss Louis again, but it was impossible.
Louis’ mouth called his name. Harry didn’t know what had caused it, but they spent the next ten
minutes snogging. Just kissing. Louis’ tongue in his mouth, his tongue in Louis’. And Louis’
hands didn’t snake down to touch his body; they stayed in his hair. Harry didn’t know if he’d ever
felt such happiness kissing him. When their lips connected, it was always sensual and intense, but
right now it was full of… delight. Bliss and glee.

Harry stole a thick jumper from Louis’ drawers and pulled on his own jeans. Louis was blow-
drying his hair, shirtless and appealing. Harry chose a black hoodie for him. As they trudged down
the stairs to the kitchen, Louis first and Harry closely behind, he wanted to lean forward and wrap
his arms around Louis’ body. He wanted to hold him back against himself and kiss the spot right
behind his ear. His caramel hair was styled in a messy way, and Harry liked the way his skin
smelled after he’d showered. He didn’t touch him, though. He let Louis toast them bread and ate it
gratefully.

Lottie barged into the kitchen with a business-like attitude. It reminded Harry slightly of Gemma.
“One minute, boys. You’re fucking slow.”

“You’re so bloody demanding,” muttered Louis, but they began moving out of the house promptly.

“I wonder whom she got that from,” commented Harry, and Louis snapped around once they’d hit
the front yard. Harry shrugged at Louis’ betrayed expression. “Can’t say it isn’t true, Lou.”

He slid into the backseat, meanwhile, Lottie took hold of the steering wheel and Louis got into the
passenger’s side.

“So rude.”

“You love me, love,” he responded. He had meant it as one of Louis’ old “you’re so bloody in love
with me” lines, but it came out gentler than intended, and Louis turned in his seat and gazed back at
him. His eyes were slightly narrowed, but apprehensive more than accusing. Harry felt a nervous
tingle in his limbs, but he suffocated it quickly. If he didn’t look nervous, then there was nothing
for Louis to notice.

Louis’ fingers reached out. Harry’s heart thrummed. They touched a strand of Harry’s hair and
fixed it tenderly.
“I don’t,” he said, voice even, but his fingers on Harry’s hair were nothing but delicate. Harry
couldn’t speak. “Wasn’t sure about your fringe.” His hand dropped, a small wrinkle between his
brows. He turned back in his seat, and Harry was left breathless and staring at the back of his head.
“Are we going, or what?” snapped Louis at his sister after a moment of pure silence.

“Sure.” She shrugged, and started the car. Harry pressed his palm to the side of his face, elbow on
the window edge, attempting and failing to cover his grin.

He had only been in Louis’ car on the odd occasion. It was an older model of a Ford, the inside
interior not shabby but by no means new. The car didn’t have Bluetooth for music, only an AUX
cord Louis refused to use since it would disturb Lottie’s driving “class”. Harry watched Louis direct
his sister towards the outskirts of town, voice serious and calm. He was pedagogic and gave simple
instructions. Harry wondered why Louis didn’t behave like this during footie practice. Even Harry
might’ve accepted him as captain then.

“Foot at the brake when the road curves, Lots. Even if it’s just a bit, you need to slow down.”

“Look far ahead, too. It’s easier to keep the car steady,” added Harry. He’d noticed the car’s slight
movement from side to side as they drove, and he’d moved to the middle, looking amusedly at the
manner in which Lottie’s manicured fingers clutched painfully at the gearshift.

Louis looked back at him for the first time in a while, and Harry tried not to meet his gaze too
quickly. He was spending too much staring at him as it was. He might’ve memorised his face by
now, fraction by fraction.

“Don’t run over any bunnies,” said Louis, but his eyes were still locked on Harry, who chuckled,
and looked up at him anyway. He felt his cheeks warm as he did. Louis’ eyes sparkled.

He almost slapped himself. He didn’t blush. Almost never. Nothing ever made him flush with
embarrassment, and yet there he was, cheeks flushing for no reason at all.

Was this what it took now? Did Louis simply have to say something stupid and glance at Harry for
him to turn into disgusting mush? Harry had never felt this way about anyone. No one had ever
made him feel as if he were made of warm, liquid glue. If he reached out and grabbed Louis, would
he stick to him? Always?

“I don’t think there are many bunnies here, Louis,” said Lottie.

“I was making a joke,” he sneered.

“Wasn’t funny.”

“Harry laughed.”

“But his humour sucks.”

“Hey.”

They ignored him.

“Why are you insulting us?” asked Louis. “Also, eyes on the road. You’re going five too fast, as
well.”

Lottie put her foot on the brake, pressing gently. “I’m just telling the truth.”
Louis shook his head, huffing, “You’re unbelievable.”

Harry watched them bicker, and found himself enjoying it. It was rather funny, the way in which
they worked like mirrored objects, gestures and the tone of voice similar, cadence on point in every
word. Their eyebrows jerked animatedly, and their lips quirked in active expressions of
displeasure.

“It’s funny how you both act like the other is horrible, but your personalities are so in line with
each other.”

Louis glanced back at him, squinting. “What are you implying?”

“He’s implying we’re like each other,” moaned Lottie, and Louis followed instantly with a groan.

Harry cackled. He wrapped his arms around the car seat in front of him, hands clutching at Louis’
chest as his cheek pressed against Louis’ hair. “Aw, Lou.”

“Get off me, you octopus.” Louis pushed at his hands, but the movement wasn’t strong — it was
quite faint, actually. And if Louis hadn’t been smiling so obviously, Harry wouldn’t have pressed
his lips to his cheek before he let go. Louis’ gentle touches made him brave.

“No smooching in my car!” Lottie demanded.

“No smooching.” He lifted his hands innocently in the air, but couldn’t hold back his grin. “Sorry,
Lots.”

“It’s cool, Harold. As long as you keep your hands where I see them.”

Louis glanced between them. “When did you two start bonding?”

Lottie shrugged, voice breezy as she joked, “Oh, we’re best buds, Lou. Harry makes a mean cup of
tea in the mornings.”

Harry chuckled, grinning as he leaned back in his seat. After trial and error, he had finally managed
to make Lottie’s tea the way she liked it. He was glad he finally had her approval.

When they finally ended up back in the driveway outside Louis’ house, Harry’s cheeks were
almost strained from smiling for the better of an hour. Being with Louis, in front of other people,
even though it was only Lottie, was fun. Their relationship (whatever that meant) hadn’t seen the
light of day at any point. It was locked inside protected walls and covered windows. It felt freeing,
in a way, to be outside. Their relationship felt real, for a second, in that car.

“So, should we order some Chinese, or something?” asked Lottie, turning off the engine and
fetching her phone from her pocket. “It’s six. Mum seems to have already left.”

Louis sighed, watching the dark house in front of them. “Sure.”

Harry frowned. “Didn’t you tell me you had work tonight?”

Louis didn’t answer. As a matter of fact, the car felt eerily silent. Harry wondered if the casual
display of affection Harry had shown that afternoon finally bothered Louis, or if the words he’d
said held a particular meaning. He couldn’t think of anything until Lottie slowly turned towards her
brother.

“Work?”
Louis’ neck was full of tension. He stared straight ahead, and Harry couldn’t see his face.

“Louis,” repeated Lottie, and her voice was full of anger. “What does he mean by ‘work’?”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Harry’s hand covered his mouth. He didn’t dare say a word, but internally he was falling. He
hadn’t known that Louis hadn’t told his sister. He’d just assumed it was something they all knew.
He should have known, though. Louis wasn’t a sharer, and he definitely did not share things he
found embarrassing. Harry should have known. Fuck.

Louis inhaled deeply. His head turned, and Harry could spot the same tension on his face that
controlled his neck. “I work at Frozen Goods in town, nights and weekends.”

Lottie closed her eyes. “What.” She looked up, and the blue in them was dark. Harry shrunk as far
back in his seat as he could, cringing and hating himself at once.

“I’m sorry for keeping this from you —”

“How long?”

“Since September last year.” His voice was so quiet, and Harry could feel the sadness practically
radiating off him.

Lottie didn’t seem to care, though. Her lips pressed down, hard. “That’s almost half a fucking year,
Louis. What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know how —”

“To tell me? Does Mum even know?”

“Yes, she knows,” he admitted.

“So, I’m the only one? I’m the only one who didn’t know? Even fucking… even Harry knew?!”

Harry looked up at the sound of his name, anxious drawstrings tying knots in his chest.

“You’ve hated each other for fucking ages, and now he knows everything, but you can’t even tell
me that you got a job!”

Harry swallowed. She wasn’t wrong, but hearing it in her voice, how much Louis supposedly hated
him, it hurt. Had Harry ever hated Louis? Sometimes. Not always. Mostly it was a product of
Louis’ own feelings towards him.

Lottie continued. “You lie to me like, like I’m — like I’m Dad. All those times I’ve asked you
where you’ve been? ‘Sorry, I was at the park practicing.’ ‘Just at the football pitch.’ ‘Just at
Niall’s, don’t worry’?!”

Harry wanted to disappear. He didn’t want to be there. He wasn’t supposed to hear any of this. It
was private.

“It’s not like with Da — Mark. I promise, Lottie. How could you even think that?”

“I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you. I don’t get it, why can’t you just woman the fuck up and make
up with him?”

The conversation was bordering on something Harry had no understanding of, and he didn’t think
he was meant to understand it, either. He wanted to get out of the car, but was torn, thinking any
noise he might make would be an effect towards the worse.

Louis’ voice was harder as he addressed his little sister. “What does this have to do with
anything?”

“Well, at least Fizzy is talking to Mum. You haven’t said a word to him in months, and you didn’t
even come to…” Lottie’s voice changed, suddenly dropping down into something painfully heart-
wrenching. “You didn’t even come to Christmas. The twins were wondering where you were,
Louis.”

His voice was cold. “Stop.”

Harry couldn’t stay in the car anymore. He had overstayed his welcome by far. He whispered, “Do
you want me to give you a minute?”

“No. We’re done. I’m leaving for work.” His voice was steady. He opened the car door and began
climbing out. Lottie’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Maybe if you made up with Dad, then Fizzy would finally completely make up with Mum.”

Louis turned slowly, his facial expression made of stone. He hadn’t ever looked at Harry like that.
“I didn’t do this. I’m not the one who ruined our family, Lottie, so don’t you dare blame me.”

The door shut behind him with a loud clash. Lottie was quiet, but her expression was contorted by
pain. Harry didn’t think she wanted his comfort, though. Clearly, the fact that he knew Louis had a
job before she did was a sore subject.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, hating the hurt and pain clutching her whole figure.

“Just go,” she said, voice broken. “Please.”

“Sorry,” he repeated, even though he didn’t know what he could have done differently.

He got out of the car, walking up to where Louis was unlocking the door. Before he could reach
him, Louis was heading upstairs in rapid movements. Harry stopped on the first step, able to hear
Louis moving around in his room. He waited until he was coming down again, and the boy finally
stopped, his work t-shirt in hand, when he found Harry standing there, blocking the way. Louis’
eyes were red and brimming with tears. His hands clutched the t-shirt in hard grips. Instantly, Harry
wanted to apologize to him, too, and wrap him up in a hug that would shield him. However, he
didn’t know what he could say to comfort him. He searched for words, but came up short.

“What?” sighed Louis, his voice strained and tired.

“Nothing,” he whispered back. He wished he could say more. He wished he was better with words,
but talking wasn’t his forte. So, he did what he could do. He lifted his arms and enclosed Louis in
an embrace he didn’t know if Louis wanted but suspected he needed.

He complied, or welcomed it, even. His face fell into Harry’s neck, and the wet traces of tears
smeared against Harry’s neck. Harry’s arms tightened around him, and he knew he would hold on
as tenaciously as he could until Louis let him go.
Don’t cry, his heart begged. I love you, don’t cry.

Louis broke the hug much too soon. He exhaled heavily as he stepped away from him. Harry
watched as Louis retreated out of the house, headed down the driveway, and disappeared.

“What?” Harry frowned, staring across the Range Rover at Zayn. They were leaning against the
car in the parking lot, waiting for the next class after lunch. Zayn was smoking, and Harry had just
made sure he’d packed all of his football gear that morning, and not forgotten anything in Louis’
room.

“He literally knocked his shoulder into mine.” Zayn was explaining the text message Harry had
received the other day, about Louis. “I have a bruise. He’s fucking strong, mate. You wouldn’t
expect that.”

Harry watched his friend smoke, considering. So, Zayn had walked into the bathroom at school
and met Louis, who’d looked upset, and on his way out had knocked his shoulder into Zayn’s.
Who now had a bruise.

“He’s pretty strong, yeah,” Harry agreed, remembering his own surprise the first time he’d
realised.

“Do you think he’s upset that I’m friends with Niall?”

Harry squinted, looking up. “Why are you friends with Niall?”

Zayn shrugged, walking around the hood of the car and settling by Harry’s side. “He buys my
weed.”

Harry raised an unimpressed brow. Really?

He shoved him in the arm. “Do you have a problem with Niall?”

“No…”

Zayn rolled his eyes, shaking his head at Harry’s childishness. “Good.”

“All right. Be friends with him then. What’s it to me?” He crossed his arms.

His friend laughed softly. “You’re such a child sometimes.”

“I just don’t get what’s the big deal. Niall this, Niall that.”

Louis really was upset about losing his friend. Understandable. Still, enough to have given Zayn a
freaking bruise from walking into him. Even Zayn seemed infatuated with Niall in one way or
another. What was so special about him? Harry had no idea.

“He’s a good mate, a genuine lad. Kind of like Liam, but different.”

“At least Liam doesn’t abandon his friends.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Now you’re just petty.”

Harry stared at the parking lot for a short moment. Fine. “Yes. I am. Also, you’re my best mate,
and don’t you fucking forget it.” He ended the sentence with a shove at Zayn, who laughed,
making Harry grin despite himself.

“Let’s go to class. You weirdo.”

It was Friday, and the quarterfinal of the championship had arrived. Harry had been excited all day,
and couldn’t wait for the evening to arrive. He’d pressed his forehead to the back of Louis’
shoulder that morning, palms resting over his naked stomach, wondering if match days were his
favourite days of the month, too. There were so many things he wanted to ask him, a plethora of
matters he needed understanding of. Some things he knew; Louis’ favourite food was pizza, he
preferred Messi over Ronaldo, he despised early mornings, and he liked to press his thumbs into
Harry’s sides, right above his hips but below his ribs, when they kissed. But there were other
things… Harry wanted to know everything. Like, how close he was to his mother, what happened
with his dad, and what was so special about Niall freaking Horan. And by the way, who the fuck
was Greg? Harry still had zero clue.

“Maybe I should switch you for Liam,” said Harry as they walked into the classroom after Zayn
had waved to Niall across the hallway moments before.

“Harry, please.”

Liam was already sitting at a desk, dressed in a crewneck and jeans, and his books were ready on
the table. Harry flung his arms around Liam’s shoulders from behind and patted his firm chest.
“Hi, friend.” He leered at Zayn and subsequently slid into the empty chair.

Zayn shook his head, but said nothing as he sat down at the table behind them.

Liam patted Harry’s upper arm. “All right?”

“Brilliant.”

“Good. We need you to score tonight.”

The mention of football got his mood up. “Fucking will, that’s for sure. Donny!”

“Donny!” Liam exclaimed, and they heard Oli and Stan howl from the back moments later. They
laughed, and Harry could practically hear his best mate rolling his eyes from behind them. It took
half the class before Harry texted him, Forgive you if you make niall talk to louis.

I don’t even know what’s their problem. Niall’s keeping it private

Well. Harry supposed that had to be a good thing. Shit. Maybe Niall wasn’t so bad. If he could just
forgive Louis, though.

The day moved at a quick pace, and the atmosphere at the school was filled with excitement that
pulsated through the students. By the time it was late afternoon, Harry was bursting at the seams
like an overcharged battery. He was ready to fight, and ready to win. They’d worked much too hard
to lose, and Harry wouldn’t mind decorating his football CV with another vital win. Chelsea still
needed to set up a contract, and part of him was hoping more than ever that Manchester United
would offer him a chance. Chelsea was suddenly starting to feel too far from Doncaster.

Harry was fixing his shin guards, meanwhile, Louis was sitting on the bench in front of his locker.
He was still and quiet like always before matches, contemplating. Harry didn’t work like that. He
just did. Louis was thinking, like usual. Even when it came to football, he didn’t like to go off lead.

“Donny!” they all yelled in a tight circle after Coach had held his final speech before the warm-up.
They all jogged out the door towards the pitch, Harry bouncing with both frenzy and delight. He
lived for this. Nights like these.

It was still light out as they hit the pitch. The opposing team was already warming on their side,
their yellow jerseys shining against the green grass. Harry stretched his legs, bending his knees as
the boys got ready for their typical warm-up regime. His blood pumped already. However, they
were still waiting for some of the boys to join them before starting to move as a group, and Harry’s
hair was finding its way into his eyes. He had forgotten his headband, he realised, and decided to
quickly run back to the locker room to fetch it. On his way back to the pitch, he noticed Louis on
the short end of the bleachers.

His steps slowed instantly. He kind of wanted to talk to him about the fight with Lottie he’d
witnessed the other day, but he’d kept his mouth shut each time he’d seen him. It saddened him
that Louis clearly had problems he hadn’t mentioned. Like with his father, whom he apparently did
not want to see anymore. Harry had spent many minutes pondering over the words Lottie had
yelled at her brother, and many more remembering the feeling of Louis’ tears against his neck. He
hated the tormented look he’d seen in Louis’ eyes.

But Louis was standing next to Niall. They were talking, and they looked happy. Harry felt a smile
form on his face as he saw Niall embrace Louis. They had reconciled. Had Zayn actually talked to
him? Maybe not, and it didn’t even matter. Louis had his friend back.

He wondered if it should’ve embarrassed him to feel such joy seeing Louis smile. But it was
something he couldn’t seem to contain. Louis’ happiness meant something to him. He couldn’t
deny that, and he’d already admitted that he was in love with the guy, so why couldn’t he admit
this, too? It only made sense.

Niall let go of Louis and disappeared towards the parking lot. Harry hurried forward, tapping
eagerly on Louis’ shoulder to alert him to his presence. Noticing him, Louis reached out. His
fingers lightly gripped the end seam of Harry’s jersey, and Harry tried and failed not to melt
entirely at the action. Louis touching him, gently and lovingly, was a pleasure he regarded highly.

“Hi,” Louis murmured, and Harry had never wanted to kiss him more. “What are you doing?”

Harry showed him the headband in his hand, pink and thin. “Forgot this in the locker room.”

“Oh.” Louis’ fingers kept tinkering with Harry’s shirt. Harry didn’t want him to stop, but there was
a frown forming on his face. He didn’t look happy anymore. Was he nervous about the match?

“Hey,” he said, trying to uplift his mood. “Did you and Niall finally make up?”

“No.”

“What? I saw you hug, just now. Did you tell him?”

Louis dropped his shirt, and Harry instantly missed the touch. Louis took a step back, while Harry
wanted to wrap his arms around his waist. “No, I didn’t,” said Louis again.

“Louis…” sighed Harry. He just wanted him to be happy. He wanted him to feel better. Instead, he
was faced with a tormented boyfriend who — Not a boyfriend, he interrupted himself. Obviously
not. But he cared about Louis as though he were his. Harry knew how Louis could be happy again.
He could tell Niall.

Louis looked offended. “Are you serious?”

Harry swallowed, his arms crossing over his chest protectively. Louis was pissed again, but this
time Harry hadn’t done anything wrong. There were no ill intentions behind his single word, yet
Louis looked at him as though he were the enemy. Louis was his own enemy, but he didn’t see it.

“Louis, I just…” I want to help you, he wanted to say, but something like that wasn’t so easy to
admit to a hostile Louis Tomlinson. Instead of saying that, Harry’s emotions ran ahead of him.
“You keep so many lies from so many people!”

“That is none of your business.”

“Louis, we both know that it’s true.”

His teeth gritted, and his words were wrought with both chagrin and anger. “When will you get it
through your head that it doesn’t matter?! You still don’t get a say.”

The manner in which the pain in his voice reverberated through Harry caused him too much
anxiety. His hand reached out, in public, landing flatly against Louis’ chest. He wanted to soothe
him again. “Lou! I’m just trying to help,” he pleaded.

Louis stared at him. Harry searched his eyes for some indication that he understood that Harry had
his best interest at heart. Maybe he did understand because his next words were painful.

“Why?”

Harry stilled. Why? Why did he try to help? His mouth was dry. His skin crawled.

Because I am insanely in love with you and I can’t stand seeing you hurt.

Those were words he couldn’t say. Nothing else came out.

“That’s what I thought,” whispered Louis. He slapped Harry’s hand off his chest and hurried
towards the football pitch.

Harry stood staring after him, his hand cold and unable to feel Louis’ heart beating under it.

Two parts of him fought violently.

Why hadn’t he said something? Anything! Anything was better than hearing Louis’ disappointed
voice.

But what had Louis wanted him to say? Did he want Harry to admit that he cared about him? How
could he expect that when he hadn’t handed Harry a single inkling showing that he felt something
even remotely as deep as Harry did for him?

Neither side of Harry won. All he was left with was a searing urge to fix this before he’d lose him.

Harry spent the weekend after the match incessantly trying to get a hold of Louis. They’d won the
quarterfinal, and yet it didn’t matter, because the person who had been Harry’s refuge the last few
months refused to talk to him. They had won, but Harry felt only anxiety that Friday night. Louis
didn’t look at him, and Harry knew he wasn’t welcome to come over. Louis had made it clear he
wanted space, and it was something he had never asked for before.

Harry hated it.

Two days without Louis were excruciating. He missed his touch, his warmth, the way he talked
and smelled. It only cemented how much he cared about Louis. How much he needed him. How
much he wasn’t ready to let go.

So, he called. He called Louis so many times that weekend he couldn’t think of anything else but
the rings beeping over and over in his ear.

He needed to at least tell Louis that he was on his side. He hadn’t meant to be another problem, not
when Louis was obviously struggling with issues already. Harry didn’t want to be on that type of
list. He wanted to be as much of a comfort to Louis as Louis was to him.

His weekend at home was manageable. He didn’t like sleeping in his own bed, but his father was
back to spending his days on the golf course when it wasn’t raining, and his mother occupied her
Saturday with Lucy. This time, Harry didn’t mind their absence. He preferred it. On Sunday, he
called Louis again. It was funny, but months ago, a thing like calling Louis would have seemed
desperate. Now, he didn’t care about looking that way. He was desperate. He needed Louis, and he
damn well knew it.

The fact that Louis actually picked up shocked him. He sat up straight on his bed when he heard a
noise from the other side of the line and the rings were disrupted. His heart pounded heavily in his
chest.

“Lou?” he breathed. He heard a small noise again, but it took a few moments before Louis actually
answered.

“Talk.”

Harry inhaled. He exhaled. He had repeated the words in his head so much they were nearly
memorised. “I want to apologise, Lou. Like, for several stuff.”

He waited, but Louis didn’t say anything. His heart beat faster, afraid of what Louis’ reaction might
be. He continued, voice on the brink of shaking.

“It wasn’t fair of me to do what I did before the match. First of all, it wasn’t my place to tell you
when or how you tell your best friend that you’re gay.”

“Queer,” Louis interjected.

Queer. Okay. It seemed Louis had done some thinking.

“Queer, then,” he smiled. “But yeah, it wasn’t my place. Even though I respectfully think it would
be better for you if you did, that is something that is up to you. Like you said, I don’t get a say in
that.”

He inhaled. Exhaled.

“Secondly, to bring it up like that before the most important match of the year so far was seriously
fucking idiotic. You didn’t need that right then, because the game was supposed to be the only
thing on our minds, you know? Luckily our team slayed, but still…”

He swallowed. The next part was the difficult one. But he had convinced himself with enough
conviction to say it. He had to. It wasn’t a confession of love, but not a complete denial of care,
either.

“Also, thirdly.” He cleared his throat, and stared up at the white ceiling above his head. He willed
strength and bravery.

“Harry?” said Louis after a long minute.

“Okay, shit. This is going to sound fucking strange, and don’t think this means anything,” Don’t
think I’m in love with you, even though that’s the truth, “but, um. I’ve…”

“You’ve…?”

“Err —”

“For fuck’s sake, spit it out.”

Inhale.

“I’ve got your back.”

Exhale.

Louis didn’t say anything. Harry didn’t say anything. He waited, painfully. Say something, he
internally begged. Tell me to fuck off, or tell me you care, too. He stared at the ceiling for so long
that he began to imagine colourful circles and patterns that weren’t there.

“Erm,” said Louis. What did that mean? Louis coughed. “So, I’m going to hang up now? And then
you’ll call again, and we’ll pretend it never happened.”

Oh. Okay. Harry could do that. He almost wanted to. If Louis didn’t care for his words, then he did
want to forget this call ever happened.

“Okay, good.”

There was silence for a few seconds, but then Louis’ voice said quickly, right before he hung up,
“But I’ll know, okay?”

Although the call was instantly terminated, Harry found himself grinning from ear to ear. Louis
knew. He accepted it. And he made sure Harry knew he knew.

He barely had time to let the happiness spread through the whole of him, before his phone started
buzzing. He immediately accepted it.

“So… do you want a blow job, or something? Because I’m kind of bored.”

Harry laughed, delighted and entirely relieved. “Yes. Yes. Definitely.”

“Coming, then?”

“Hopefully.”

Louis huffed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” he grinned into the phone.

“Are you coming over?”

“Yes.”

“Hurry.”
Harry didn’t know if he was imagining the urgency in Louis’ voice. “Yes, sir,” he said, and then
pressed his face into the pillow on the bed, forcing the stupid grin off his face.

It was raining when Harry left the house. He pushed a coat atop his navy hoodie, jogging quickly
through the streets. It wasn’t so much the rain that made him run, but rather the fact that Louis was
waiting for him. It took him only minutes, and he knocked on Louis’ door eagerly. He nearly
fainted when he opened the door.

He was smiling. A gorgeous, sweet, soft smile. And he was shirtless.

Did Louis still not know the effect he had on Harry? Clearly not. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have
expected Harry to go on living his life as if Louis’ whole fucking body wasn’t supposed to hang in
the Louvre to be admired on the daily.

“Hey,” said Louis quietly, and Harry internally turned into honey and slime as his fingers clutched
the hoodie he was wearing. Harry gently shrugged out of his wet jacket, careful not to require Louis
to let go of him. As soon as his arms were free, he wrapped them around Louis’ neck, unable to
restrain himself, just as Louis began pulling him closer.

Louis laced his arms around Harry’s waist, and Harry felt his own knees wobble. It felt so good to
breathe in him. He needed Louis. And he’d missed him. He’d missed him so much it hurt.

The hug was slow this time. It wasn’t fierce, like the one after Louis’ fight with his sister. This
time, it was a reunion of some sort. It was an apology and acceptance.

“Have you forgiven me?” he whispered against Louis’ ear, arms refusing to let go of him. Louis
nodded against Harry’s shoulder where his face was hidden. His whole body was warm and
moving timidly.

When he was like this, soft and pliant, it was so easy to imagine they belonged together. Louis fit
right into his body, like he was meant to be there all along. Harry couldn’t stand the thought of
Louis not caring a thing about a hug like this. It meant everything to him. By the manner in which
Louis pressed closer, it had to mean something to him, too.

For a minute, Harry let himself imagine it was real. All of it.

His hands slid down Louis’ back, from his shoulders, over naked skin, down to his waist. His
fingers pressed into Louis’ soft, soft skin. His stomach slotted perfectly against Harry’s. They fit.
Harry leaned in, his movements slow but deliberate as his lips pressed lightly against Louis’ jaw.
He felt his breath soar by his face, and kissed his skin, once, twice. He could live like this. Inhaling
Louis. He would never need to exhale.

“Mum’s home.”

His fantasy world was broken. He retreated, reluctant, but knew it was necessary. Louis’ hands
remained around his shirt, keeping him in his space.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

Harry didn’t want to go, but he asked, “It’s okay. Should I go?”

“No.”

No. Stay. For the love of God.

“Honey, who’s here?” called a voice from the living room. Harry had never met Louis’ mum. He’d
seen her at their matches, but he’d never heard her speak. Still, he knew it was her. He expected
Louis to lie, or say nothing, but he took him by total surprise by grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie
and pulling him towards the next room.

“Erm, fuck. C’mon,” he said, and Harry’s breathing quickened as they approached the living room.
They stopped on the threshold. On the sofa sat Lottie, face sour, together with Louis’ mother.

Louis’ mum up close looked… not much like Louis. Their eyes were both blue, and their hair
caramel and full of volume, but where Louis’ lips were thin, hers were full, and where Louis’ nose
was straight, hers was slightly more button-like. Meeting her up close, Harry realised that Lottie
looked much more like Mrs. Tomlinson than Louis did. Nonetheless, it was easy to tell she was his
mother. It was the beautiful eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she said when she saw Harry. She looked surprised, but her voice was very gentle. She
was half-sitting on the sofa, lines of exhaustion drawn around her eyes. She looked like she’d been
interrupted from sleep.

“Mum, this is Harry.”

“Hello, Mrs. Tomlinson.” He waved, and immediately regretted it. What did someone usually do
with their hands? He felt his cheeks warm.

Mrs. Tomlinson began undoing her blankets from her body and unwrapped her arm from Lottie’s
shoulders, but she looked tired doing so. Something in Harry didn’t want to steal rest from her,
especially not for something as stupid as a polite handshake.

“No, no, it’s fine. Don’t get up. It’s okay, we don’t want to bother you. We were just going to say
hi.” He glanced at Louis, for a second desperate for help, and Louis actually nodded, affirmatively.
Harry breathed again. “Hi,” he added.

After a second of silence, Louis cleared his throat. “Yeah, we’re headed upstairs.”

Instantly, Lottie scoffed. The noise was loud, and to Harry, it was evident she hadn’t forgiven
Louis yet. Mrs. Tomlinson didn’t seem to think anything of it, though, and just nodded and smiled
as Louis tugged Harry backward.

“See you later,” he said, and pulled Harry into the kitchen.

“Does she hate me?” he winced.

“No. She’s probably just confused.” Louis leaned against the worktop, picking up a teacup from
the surface.

“Yeah.” Harry shivered. He grabbed Louis’ cup and swallowed down a large gulp of lukewarm tea.
Louis’ fingers slapped against him.

“Mine.” He looked up at Harry, eyes wary for a second as he took a bite of a piece of toast. “How
come your parents weren’t surprised?”

Harry felt an anxious wave wash over him at the question. Louis didn’t know the bullshit his
parents had put him through. He wasn’t especially eager to go over it, either. He swallowed another
sip of tea that really should’ve been hotter to taste good. He didn’t want to ignore the question,
though, as Louis probably would have. He didn’t mind the feeling of letting Louis know him better.
“Football is like… It isn’t important.”

“But you love football.” He frowned, like it didn’t sit right with him.

“But it’s not important enough.” Not to them. To them, football only turned okay when they
realised it was easier to accept than his sexuality. He felt the pain rise within him, and he turned
away from Louis slightly, forcing an even expression onto his face. He put the teacup down on the
worktop.

He felt a hand at the small of his back, gently steering him forwards. It stayed there as they headed
towards the stairs, and as they hit the hallway, Harry felt Louis’ fingers, cold but simultaneously
warm, slide under his hoodie, touching his bare skin. Shivers ran across his back, and once again
he was lost in a fantasy world where touches like these were the norm.

“Honey?” Mrs.Tomlinson’s voice interrupted their steps.

Louis stopped, leaned back to glance into the living room, next to the stairs.

His mother continued, “Before you go and disappear upstairs, I was going to tell you today. In two
weeks, the girls and I are going away for the weekend. Just Lots, Fizzy and I. We’re headed to a
spa, get some relaxing and bonding time in, you know? Just us girls.”

“Lovely.” Louis’ hand tightened around Harry’s shirt, hard.

“Honey?”

Louis ignored her and began up the stairs. Harry followed in a rush. Louis placed his piece of toast
on the desk, and then fell down on the bed dramatically. His head landed flatly on the mattress,
face hidden in a pillow at the headboard. Slowly, Harry sat down against it, pulling his knees
towards himself.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Hmm,” was all Louis said.

“Have you slept all day?”

“Hmm.”

Louis’ arms stretched, enveloping the pillow under his face. His arms looked firm, skin taught over
muscles and bone. He was tired, but his body appeared tense, not relaxed. Harry slowly reached
out and let his fingers feather-lightly run over Louis’ skin. Shivers ran across his body, but he
didn’t move. Harry’s fingers moved up his back, and his skin felt so smooth, even though there
were faint, little traces of teenage acne here and there. Harry kind of liked seeing it. It made Louis
feel even more real. As though Harry saw parts of him that were intimate and private, meant only
for them. Harry continued, gentle and easy, until he’d touched almost every part of Louis’ back.

“You’ve got a birthmark under your shoulder blade,” he realised.

“I know,” replied Louis against the pillow.

“Haven’t seen it before,” he hummed. It made him wonder what else he didn’t know about Louis.
It made him want to find out. His hand stilled for a second, wondering what else Louis could be
hiding from him, right there in plain sight.
“Don’t stop.”

Harry’s breath caught, but he could do nothing but follow orders. He continued, down Louis’ side,
to the little dip between his ribs and hip. His belly jumped at the touch there, and Harry smiled.

“Ticklish?”

“A little.”

Another thing he knew. Louis was ticklish.

Louis sighed heavily, and tugged the pillow under his face closer.

“You okay?” asked Harry, a little concerned. What was he thinking?

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked. He could curl up around Louis, hold him close, and
touch his skin until he felt better.

A knock on the door interrupted the stillness in the room, before Louis could answer.

“What?” he called towards the door, body moving on the bed.

The door opened, and in walked Lottie. Harry watched her tightly-knit face, brows pulled down as
if she was already upset before Louis had even had a chance to disappoint her. It seemed a little
unfair, in Harry’s view. Maybe he was biased, though.

Louis sat up once he noticed it was his sister, and Harry’s hand involuntarily left his skin.

Lottie crossed her arms, standing in the middle of the room. “I want to go for a drive. Can we go?”

Louis glanced at Harry, and then back to his sister. He looked torn.

“So,” Lottie urged. “Do you want to go, or not?”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Harry, get me the shirt over there, thanks.”

“See you downstairs,” she muttered and left swiftly.

Harry reached down to grab a grey t-shirt from the floor. “Can I come?” he asked quietly. He
pressed Louis’ shirt to his face, wrinkling his nose. “This smells a bit.”

Louis’ words were spicy. “Well, you’re not going to be smelling me, are you?”

He shrugged. “Just get another one.”

“Fine. Pick one then.”

And, okay. Harry could do that. He got up, and began searching the dresser for Louis’ black
turtleneck. “Can I come then?” he repeated as he scavenged, hoping Louis wouldn’t send him back
home. Maybe he didn’t want him there, after the last incident.

“Oh,” was Louis’ reply. It sounded… strange. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten. It was something else.
“Sorry, I didn’t ask,” he said hesitantly. “I thought you wanted to since, you know, last time was…
fun.”
Fun? Well, until they’d fought, it had been fun. Harry tried not to smile, but it was impossible. He
bit his cheeks, and grabbed a t-shirt that definitely wasn’t the turtleneck but which would have to
do.

“Right,” he said. He walked up to where Louis was sitting on the bed. “Here, stand.”

“Are you dressing me?”

“Just slip your arms in, will you? You’re so bloody slow.” It took him five minutes to pull on socks
at times.

Louis didn’t seem happy about it, but he raised his arms and let Harry slide the black t-shirt onto
his body and then pull him from the bed. Louis stumbled, and Harry grabbed him with ease,
slinging his arm around his waist and dragging him out the room. He kept his arm there. Because
he could.

Driving, this time, was not much fun. The rain poured, heavily, and Louis and Lottie were both
grumbling and sulking. Harry burrowed into his hoodie, leaning back against the seat and kind of
wishing Louis’ car had better heating. He wanted to go back to Louis’ house and dive back into his
bed, and wrap his arms around the guy who made his body tingle. Maybe they could take a
shower, let hot water slide down their naked bodies, and Louis could press his fingers into him and
they’d —

“Lottie! What are you doing?” Louis’ exclaim awakened Harry from his small daydreams. He was
glaring at his sister, who seemed to be ignoring him entirely. “Hello? Where the hell are we
going?” She didn’t answer, and Harry noticed for the first time that they were driving rather fast.
“Lottie! Stop the car!”

“No.”

Harry stared at Louis’ sister. Was she going to crash the car and kill them?

“Charlotte! I have a responsibility of what we’re doing here. You need to listen to me. If you don’t,
this could end seriously badly. This is not okay!”

Lottie didn’t answer. Harry clutched his seatbelt.

“Pull the fuck over.”

“Nope.”

“You better stop this car right now. I’m never driving with you again.”

Water splashed the windows as they ran through a puddle by the curb. Harry swallowed, meeting
Louis’ eyes as he glanced back at him. Louis’ eyes were angry, but they turned back onto the road
quickly.

After a moment, Louis’ voice changed. It was no longer angry, but betrayed. “No fucking way,” he
hissed. “I cannot believe you.”

Harry wondered if he’d missed something.

“I’m not sorry, Lou.”

“Fucking traitor,” he spat. When he said the next words, his voice was icy. “Stop the car.”
“No.”

“Charlotte.”

“I don’t care what you say.”

Once again, Louis’ voice was something different from what Harry had ever heard. “It doesn’t
matter what you do, okay? This isn’t going to happen. It’s not up to you, do you not understand
that? Everything isn’t going to be fine if you lock us in a room for a few minutes. It doesn’t work
that way.”

Harry didn’t know what was going on anymore. Lock who in a room? Louis and who? Niall? His
other sisters?His dad? He frowned out the window. Where was Lottie taking them?

She didn’t answer, and they were silent until the car stopped abruptly on a quiet street. The house
on their side of the road was built in bricks. It had a large front lawn and white windowpanes, and
there was a car parked in the driveway. The lights were on, glistening somewhere through the rain.

“Louis,” said Lottie, tucking the key to the engine in her pocket. “Dad’s in there. Fizzy, too. I’m
going inside. I highly suggest you do, too. Harry, you can come as well.”

Louis didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched and fists locked in his lap.

Oh, thought Harry. Louis’ father. That’s whom Louis didn’t want to see.

“So,” murmured Lottie after a while. Harry watched as she leaned over and caressed Louis’ arm.
“Are you coming?”

Louis’ jaw was tight as he snapped around to look at her. “Not a fucking chance in hell.”

Harry shrunk further into the backseat. He was once again witnessing something he shouldn’t have
been.

“Screw you, Lou,” whispered Lottie, before she left the car and slammed the door shut with a loud
clash. Harry winced at the noise, hands clenched in his lap. Lottie disappeared towards the red
brick house.

“Can’t fucking breathe in here,” spat Louis after minutes of silence. He undid his seatbelt with
vigour and left Harry alone in the car. Harry watched Louis pull his hoodie up in the rain, walking
around the car to lean against the vehicle there.

Hesitantly, Harry opened the door and got out, too. The rain was falling down in hefty strokes,
instantly soaking his shoes and jeans. It didn’t even take a minute before Harry’s hoodie was
dripping and the cold was seeping all the way through to his skin. Even so, he walked around the
car until he was right next to Louis, whose face was angled towards the sky, letting icy drops slash
across his cheeks.

Harry’s chest brushed Louis’ shoulder as he leaned against the car by his side.

“I knew that your parents had split,” he said softly, not wanting to anger Louis with his words. “I
didn’t know it was this complicated.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, and even though his breath didn’t hitch and his words weren’t heavy,
Harry sensed hurt among them. “It is.”
His body felt tight. Louis and Lottie’s yelling reminded him of his parents. Their fighting reminded
him of cold words and loud voices. He wondered… if his own parents got divorced, would it make
everything better, or worse? It didn’t look like a divorce had helped Louis in any way. Was this the
way it would have to be when they finally realised they needed to leave each other? His parents?
Had Louis’ parents fought like Harry’s had before they decided to split?

The heartbroken part of him had to ask.

“Is it like, how —” He didn’t know how to say it. He shook his head, willing away the stinging
sensation in his throat. “I don’t —”

Louis’ voice was solemn. “He’s not my dad. Not really. When I was little, my mum remarried and
Lottie was born. They got divorced before last summer started.”

Oh.

“He’s, um. I used to call him ‘Dad’, but he’s not. He didn’t want me.” Louis cleared his throat.
“Well, it took him six months to realise he might after all, so…”

He got off the car and began to move in the rain, jumping slightly where he stood. He looked cold,
freezing. And suddenly Harry thought he might finally understand what was hurting Louis inside.
He was scared of losing people. That was why he couldn’t tell Niall. He was scared he’d lose him
forever.

He swallowed, finally brave enough to properly ask. “Did you know before? Could you feel it
before they told you?”

Louis took one step closer to Harry. He said, careful of Harry’s reaction, “Of course, I did.”

Fuck.

Harry had known it, but it was different knowing it. His own behaviour could hardly have helped
his parents find their way back to each other. Was he part of the problem?

“Even though we're opposites, we're not that different, Styles.”

Harry pressed his lips together, teeth cutting into them painfully. He'd never realised just how
much they both probably had in common. He nodded. The fact that neither of them had ever
allowed it to be a bonding factor between them seemed about right.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked Louis. He seemed to have all the answers.

“All the time.”

Harry nodded. What other answer had he expected? Fuck. He wanted to scream. “Why is
everything shit?!”

“Yep. It always is, isn’t it?” agreed Louis, but he chuckled, a smile playing on his perfect lips. “It’s
even fucking raining.”

“Bloody perfect.”

“Your hair is wet,” he remarked.

Harry huffed, looking back at where Louis was utterly drenched in front of him. His usually
untameable and fluffy hair was plastered to his forehead. “Well, you look like a drenched puppy,
babe.”

His smile didn’t dissipate. “Drenched puppy?”

“Yes.”

Louis arched one brow, and he stepped forward in a manner that was decisive and wondering all at
once. “Does that mean you find me cute then?” he asked just as his wet jeans became flush with
Harry’s. His line was delivered smoothly — a little innocent, a little bit teasing. He must have
known unbelievably appealing he was when he knew what he wanted. How was he so good at this?

Harry licked his lips. “Do you know what people do in the rain?”

“Yeah?” His wet sleeves laced around Harry’s neck, pressing into his already wet hoodie over his
neck. Harry gripped his hips, holding him still and firmly against himself. Harry would’ve
imagined himself placing Louis on the ground underneath his body if it weren’t so cold. “What do
they do then?” whispered Louis, his mouth slightly brushing over Harry’s.

“I’ll give you a guess.”

His lips brushed over Harry’s again, teasing and unintentional all at once. Harry kind of wanted to
wreck him. “I don’t know, tell me.”

Harry leaned down, finally letting his nose press into the spot just next to Louis’. His face was
cold and wet, but so was Harry’s. The rain was still smattering down, drops sliding down their
faces as they aligned. “Show you,” whispered Harry, and kissed Louis like he had wanted and
imagined for a whole weekend.

Being without Louis, even for just a day and a half, made him realise just how much he needed
Louis. But not just that. It made him really understand how much he wanted Louis. It wasn’t only
physical desire, or desperation for a comforting body, anymore. He wanted Louis. Him. And all of
him. He wanted his laughs, he wanted his touches, he desired nothing more than his smile against
his skin, and he didn’t care if it came along with mean looks and spiked words. He felt like he
knew Louis better, and he felt like Louis knew him. It wasn’t simply sex, and it wasn’t…

Harry loved him. He had recognised it and accepted it, but he hadn’t fully embraced it. After today,
he wanted nothing more than to do so. Kissing Louis in the rain, feeling his hands press against his
back in the hallway at his house, hugging him shirtless on the doormat at his front door…
Spending time with Lottie, and meeting Louis’ mother. It all had just happened, but Harry wanted
it. He wanted Louis.

He needed Louis to not just need him back, but also want him.

Kissing Louis, he could feel it in his entire body. Sparks on the insides and wet raindrops on the
outside. He’d kiss Louis, like this, forever. His warm lips wrapped around Harry’s, his shaking
fingers in Harry’s wet curls, and his shivering body warming against his. The only warmth came
from within. From their mouths. Louis’ lips felt like a fire for frozen hands. A lifeline.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered against Louis’ mouth, but wanted to tug him in again. Kiss him
more. On his face, against his neck.

Louis threw his head back and laughed. “You did not just say that, love.”

Harry’s stomach fluttered. Love.

He moved closer, letting their lips brush against each other as he spoke, like he couldn’t bare it if
they didn’t kiss again. “I meant your jumper,” he moaned, and buried himself against Louis,
holding him tightly towards himself, placing kiss after kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“I know,” said Louis, and he avoided Harry’s lips on his neck only so he could place a kiss on
Harry’s mouth instead. Harry didn’t let him go for minutes from there.

It was only when it got too cold to bear it that they stopped kissing and got into the car. Harry
didn’t want to let Louis go, though. Instead, he kept his arms around him, lifted him up, and carried
him off the pavement into the car. Louis squawked, but it was more of a laugh than a complaint.

“Oh, my God,” he gasped into Harry’s neck. His cheeks were terribly cold, but Harry didn’t mind
it one bit. They huddled in the backseat, clothes wet against the fabric-covered seats. Louis leaned
against Harry, very overtly trying to steal some of his body heat. Harry was afraid he didn’t have
much to offer anymore, fingers and toes shivering.

“This wasn’t good,” said Louis, teeth nearly rattling.

“Excuse you, my kisses are excellent.”

Louis lightly slapped his arm. “I meant, standing in the rain. Imagine if both of the team’s captains
are sick for the semi-final game.”

Harry swallowed. He glanced at Louis, wondering for a second whether he knew how vital that
match was for him. The championship games were often scouted from, but teams that didn’t make
it to the final rarely got players out to the academies. Harry knew Chelsea was just about a sure
thing, but he also knew that Louis didn’t have such a certain future. Moreover, that feeling, that
Chelsea was kind of far from Doncaster, and Manchester for that matter, was growing with each
shield of Louis’ that he was beating down.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

Louis’ eyes were set on his lap. He didn’t need to answer, because Harry could see what he was
feeling clearly written on his face. “Yeah,” Louis said anyway, not afraid to show it.

“Me, too,” whispered Harry. For himself… kind of. He still wanted to get into Manchester
United’s academy, but more so for Louis’ sake. He didn’t have any backup options when it came to
football. And though Louis was good in school, Harry knew there was no other option for him
besides footie.

Harry grabbed Louis’ hand. He didn’t know how long they’d sat there, cold and shivering in the
car, but eventually, he did it. He wanted to hold onto Louis. He wanted to comfort him, support
him, and in some way reaffirm and prove to him that he did have his back this time. He couldn’t
just blatantly say all those things, though. So, he held his hand.
 Chapter 13

Harry woke up with a terrible hangover. He was lying at the foot of Louis’ bed, his upper body
nearly falling off it. He was naked, with certainty. He lifted his head, and it took a significant
amount of willpower and strength he barely could muster. Louis was at the top of the bed. He was
also nearly naked, dressed in only a pair of boxers. He was drooling. Harry felt like he was about to
throw up.

He moaned. Instantly, his head clocked him like a wrecking ball.

This wasn’t good. Oh, he felt sick. Horribly so. He hadn’t had a hangover like this in at least a
year.

Yesterday. It was yesterday’s fault.

The night was starting to come back in bits and pieces. Louis groaned from the other side of the
bed as Harry got up, aiming for the bathroom. His mind swivelled with memories cut in half by
alcohol and sleep depravity.

He regretted it. Oh, fuck, he regretted it.

Really, it was Zayn’s fault. If anyone’s. From what Harry could recall. He wasn’t sure how much
he trust himself at that moment.

It was time, Zayn had announced the day before. The time had come to throw a party, and Liam
and Harry, who’d just hit the parking lot after footie practice, were compelled to cooperate and
assist in preparations. They dropped their cars at home, and Liam steered the way in his MINI to
Sainsbury’s for shopping.

“Sure it’s okay with your parents?” Harry triple-checked with Liam as they strolled down the aisles
of liquor and crisps.

“They always head off during the weekend. As long as I don’t trash the place, we’re good.”

“Sophia coming, too?”

“Yeah, she’ll be over.”

“She seems really cool.” Louis had once said she was a force to be reckoned with, and Harry was
kind of intrigued to get to know her. Liam had grown on him, and Louis’ amicable affection for her
interested him, so he felt he was missing out on something.

“She’s wonderful. You’ll love her. She always —”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Zayn threw them a disgusted glare. “I’ve got one fool headfirst in love who
won’t shut the fuck up about his — person. And then you? Even though you’ve had yours for like
half a year already? Boys, this is ridiculous. It’s time to focus.”

Harry squawked. “On getting you laid! And I’m not in love!”

“Please.”
Liam exhaled heavily around a smile. “You need to meet someone, mate. Then you’ll get it.”

“A fucked up, consensual, heated night of sex is what I need.”

Harry snorted. He received a glare from his best friend.

“Vodka?” Liam grabbed a bottle of Absolut from a shelf.

Zayn gave the lads one long glance and grumbled, “Take two.”

“Harry, you want anything more?”

“Should we have some shots tonight?” He was kind of in the mood for once. Lately, some of the
anxiety perpetually churning in his chest seemed to have faded. He believed that hanging out with
Zayn and Liam helped, but he also knew there was one particular reason above all.

“With vodka? Or are you thinking tequila?”

Harry grinned mischievously. “What about something more fun? Like… whipped cream and hard
liquor.”

Zayn smirked, liking the idea. He picked up his phone, making a quick google search. “Here’s a
recipe. Oh, I bet you’re gonna’ like this one, mate.”

“What is it?”

“It’s called a Blow Job.”

“Fuck off.” He snorted at the stupidity of the joke and shoved Zayn in the arm. He couldn’t help
but chuckle, though, feeling a little breathless. It was nice that they could laugh about it. It made
him feel free.

Liam nodded. “I’ve done those.”

Harry stopped, raising a brow just as Zayn did. At their expressions, he instantly blushed, waving
them off. “Stop it! I meant the shots. You lads are ridiculous.”

“Don’t worry. We know you’re straight.” Zayn’s voice was teasing, and his wide grin was still
amused. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Liam, don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Very funny.” He was smiling as he turned around, strolling down the aisle and shaking his head.

Zayn grinned and bumped his shoulder into Harry’s, and the two of them giggled as they followed
Liam to get Amaretto, Bailey’s, and whipped cream.

In Liam’s car on the way back to his house, Harry’s phone buzzed.

Is it just me or are united playing really fucking shit this season

Harry smiled. Agree. What are you doing?

Wanna come over? Lottie’s away. Empty house

Harry didn’t need to think twice.

“Boys, I’m sorry, but I might need to dip tonight…”

“Why, what happened?” frowned Liam.

Zayn watched him for a moment, noting the phone in his hand. “He’s about to fucking abandon us
to go have sex, in’he?” He shook his head disappointedly.

Liam cackled. “It’s fine, Harry. Just go. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” he grinned, feeling a little warm at the almost brotherly kindness. “Perhaps you can just
drop me here.”

They weren’t too far from Louis’, but they couldn’t exactly drive right up to his house.

Liam watched Harry pocket his phone. “Tell h — Tell them hi.”

“As if. Tell ’em to stop stealing you away from me.”

“I’ll make sure to say that, Z,” he retorted flatly. “Actually… can I have the whipped cream?”

Zayn and Liam looked at him for two seconds and then it started. “Ew! Ew, ew, ew! Harry, for
fuck’s sake! Get out, get out. You fucking rascal. Disgusting!”

Harry chortled as he dug into the bags to get the three items he sought after. He smirked at his
friends, stuck his tongue out, and jumped out of the car, barely hearing Zayn’s profanities and
Liam’s laughter.

On my wayyyy, he texted, feeling butterflies flutter in the middle of his chest.

Good lad, Louis wrote back. Harry pocketed the phone and started walking, unable to hold back
his smile.

All right. He was doing this. He was embracing it. Embracing being in love with Louis Tomlinson.
That meant getting to know him better, but it also meant having fun. Generally, they did have fun,
but it was always a bi-product of having sex. With Louis, sex was continuously a good time. Now,
they simply had to have it without sex. It felt a little daunting if Harry was entirely honest.

It took him fourteen minutes to get to Louis’ house, and by the time he’d knocked on the door, the
butterflies were canaries, shaking out their wings and trying to escape.

When Louis opened the door, he was wearing tapered training sweats and a crew neck. His hair
was wet and the fringe hung into his eyes in a delicate manner. Harry had seen this image so many
times before; Louis newly showered, in soft clothes, holding up the front door with a crooked smile
illuminating his face. This time, it was a little different. Louis’ eyes lingered for a long moment,
blue irises flying over Harry for several heavy seconds before he spoke.

“Were you going out?” he asked, bewildered.

Harry looked down at himself, for the first time realising that he was in blue jeans and a short-
sleeved button-down. Usually, he was dressed like Louis was right now, and the difference seemed
loud and severe. They never dressed up. They lived in t-shirts, sweatpants, and footie kits. Louis
appeared just as aware of it.

“Uhm. I ditched a party.”

“Seriously?”
Harry nodded, feeling his cheeks turn a little too warm. His curls tickled his jaw when he glanced
at his own feet, hands clammy. “It hadn’t started yet.”

“You’ve got drinks?” He sounded intrigued, and when Harry finally looked up, he found Louis
peering into the bag of liquor. “Whip? Are we making shots tonight then?” His lips were pulling
upwards.

Harry’s mouth shaped into a grin, relief starting to drench the nerves. He raised a brow, curious.
“Can you handle your drinks?”

“Probably better than you.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Haven’t seen you at a party in a while.”

“Well, I haven’t seen you at one, either.” Harry stepped out of his shoes, leaving them at the front
door for once.

“If I remember correctly, there was a bathtub incident.” Louis led the way into the kitchen. Harry
placed the alcohol on the worktop, and awkwardly let his hands fall to his sides.

He gnawed on his lip for a moment. “You were high.”

Louis pushed the wet fringe from his eyes. The crewneck fell down his arm slightly, and Harry
realised that he hadn’t kissed him since that morning. He didn’t know why Louis’ forearms got
him thinking about snogging, but he supposed that was the way things were now. He had to
embrace it.

“You were… kind of nice that night.”

Louis hesitated, eyes remaining on Harry’s for a second longer than he probably intended. Harry
assumed because Louis promptly glanced off to the side a second later. He looked awkwardly at
nothing, opened his mouth, and then closed it. He opened it again.

“Well, you looked…” He stopped. Shrugged it off. He turned to the bottles of alcohol. “All right,
then.” He pressed his palms together and plastered on a grin. “Let’s get this party started.”

They pulled the bottles out, and Louis leaned against the counter and watched Harry ponder what
way to go about the recipe. He didn’t technically have one anymore. Louis had placed shot glasses
on the worktop, and now seemed faintly amused at Harry’s deliberation. It was a little hard to
concentrate with his eyes following every movement.

He sighed. “I reckon just mix it, Harry.”

When he didn’t immediately do as told, Louis grabbed the two bottles and poured them
simultaneously into the glasses.

“Don’t!” Shit. It was too much. “Louis! Fucking hell.”

“Oi. Get out of the kitchen, or actually do it yourself.”

Harry huffed, staring at the mess on the counter. “Lou! You’re ruining it.”

“Am not!” He snatched a shot glass and downed it with ease. He grasped the whip can and sprayed
it into his own mouth, white fluff poking out of the corners of his lips as he cackled at Harry’s
betrayed expression. He raised the can in the air and pressed down just a little on the tap. A small
amount of whipped cream flared at the top. “Look. It’s like your cock when I’m fucking you.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Harry sighed, but amusement was starting to build somewhere within.
Louis stretched out his tongue and sprayed some whip on the tip. There, it slowly melted. Harry
watched it drip onto his chin. Disgusting, and too fucking hot.

“Tell it to me twice, Harold.” He grinned crookedly and grabbed the bottle of Baileys from the
counter. “Have a sip.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He took the bottle. “Fine, but we’re gonna’ get drunk like this.”

“And ain’t that the fuckin’ point!”

Embrace it, Harry had thought. Embrace it.

They’d been in the kitchen. Louis was monopolising the whipped cream, allowing Harry only a hit
if he opened his mouth wide and let him spray it.

“More.”

“Say it like you mean it, Harold.”

“More!” He sprayed too much. Harry had to mix it with more Baileys.

“Are we heading off to that party, or what?” They were in the doorway between the kitchen and
the hallway. The bottles were on the counter still, but decidedly emptier. Louis was bouncing on
one foot.

Harry swallowed, squinting at Louis through drunken eyes. “Together?” It’d look… interesting.
Did Harry care what other people would think if they’d show up together? Well… probably more
than he was letting himself believe.

Louis stopped trying to put his shoes on at that. “Right. What about you, then? Are you gonna’
leave me all alone with the whip?”

He shook his head. Remembered thinking absolutely fucking not. “Zayn just wanted to get laid.
And I can do that here, so.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’re here?” Louis raised his brows. “To get laid?”

Harry’s heart beat hard. “Obviously,” he said, trying not to show anything he didn’t want to be
broadcasting on his face.

Louis laughed, obviously taking no offence. “C’mere then. I’ll give you what you want.”

Harry had taken another sip from the bottle of Baileys and opened his mouth. Louis raised the whip
and gave him a hit. Before he could swallow, Louis pressed his mouth on his. He tasted good.

They’d been sitting at the top of the stairs. Their knees touched and their socked feet overlapped.
Harry leaned into Louis’ shoulder. His hands were definitely moving too far up his thigh for a
night supposedly without sex.

“Zayn thinks you’re stealing me away from him…” he mumbled, lips touching the corner of
Louis’.

He scoffed. “Pretty sure you’re the one living in my house on purpose.”

He felt drunk. Too drunk. “Is that okay?”

It took him a second to answer, and when he did it was just a little nod. His nose brushed Harry’s.

He kissed him more. With everything he had. Louis tasted like sugar, amaretto, and coffee. His
hands felt like a dream.

They’d been lying on the floor. It wasn’t Louis’ room. It had to be near the top of the stairs,
though, because Harry had a memory of his foot bumping into the can of whipped cream and it
falling down the stairs with clash after clash.

Louis’ fingers were attempting to slide in under the lining of Harry’s jeans, and he complained in
his ear about tight-fitted trousers. “These jeans are banned for life, Harry. Hope you know that.
Don’t ever wanna’ see them around here, okay? They’re too fucking hard to get off.” His breath
was warm on his neck, and he smelled too fucking fantastic for a drunk guy. Harry giggled, liking
the feeling of Louis’ hands all over him. “Fucking dilemma, innit? You looking fucking fit in them,
and me not being able to get them off you? Fucking hell. But I gotta’ make a choice, haven’t I?”

“You think I look fit?”

Louis slowed in his movements. His left hand slid up the side of Harry’s neck, and his thumb
followed the line along his jaw. His nose touched the shell of his ear. Their intertwined legs were
warm against one another. “Didn’t you already know that?”

He shook his head, quickly. His curls splayed across the floor beneath.

“Well fit, Harry. Well fit.”

This time they were on the bed. He remembered Louis’ mouth on him, and he remembered his
mouth on Louis. He remembered joking about better condoms that’d taste good and look nicer. He
remembered telling him to place his hand on his chest, right over his heart. He remembered
instantly regretting it. Then not. Then regretting it again.

The last memory was the one Harry wasn’t certain he wanted to remember.

They’d been in bed. Their heads were on the corner of their own pillows, and their eyes roamed
over one another. Harry’s heart pounded. His mind was spinning from the alcohol they’d both had
too much of.

“Why did you hate me?” he whispered.

Louis moved onto his back. His eyelids fluttered and fell shut. Still, he spoke. “There were things I
wanted and I could already see you standing in the way of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Louis inhaled. His voice was low. “Harry… You’re everything I’m not. And that has always
seemed to work out pretty well.”

He rolled over, pushed his face into the pillow, and remained silent. He wasn’t going to say more.

Harry, drunk, mind turning wildly, stared at the ceiling. When Louis seemed to have fallen asleep,
Harry was still grappling with the fact that the years of enmity from Louis had never really been
about him in particular, but about Louis himself. In the end, he didn’t know what that made of
Louis. He supposed it made better of him for telling the truth.

It changed nothing about how Harry felt for him now, he realised. Maybe he understood him just a
little bit better, though. At that hour, in that bed, Harry was good with that.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Louis’ voice came from outside the bathroom door.

“No,” he moaned, trying not to place his head on the toilet rim but hardly managing. His head hurt.
His stomach clenched from vomiting.

“Shouldn’t have brought drinks, Haz.”

“I hate you.”

“Not my fault.”

“Lou, I’m gonna’ die.”

“At least you got to say how much you appreciate my blow jobs first.”

“Fuck off.”

After Harry had finally gotten off the bathroom floor and brushed his teeth, he crawled into the
bed. Louis was sitting there, looking better off with two steaming mugs waiting on the nightstand.
The tea looked hot, for once.

“I barely remember when Lottie came home, but I do recall her shouting at me,” said Louis. He
handed Harry one of the cups and made space for him in front of the laptop he was cradling.
“Couldn’t tell you for the life of me what she actually said.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was probably when you were in my room, calling Payne.”

He froze. “I called Liam?”

Louis squinted. “Yes?”

“Oh.”

“You don’t remember?”

He shook his head. No, he didn’t recall that at all. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and
checked the call list. Indeed, Liam’s name was at the top. Harry gnawed at his lip, staring at the
name on the screen. He didn’t know what he’d said.

“Did you hear what I said to him?” he asked Louis quietly, not daring to meet his eyes.

He felt him cuddle further down between the bed covers. “Nah.”

“Are you lying?”

“Nah.”

Okay. Harry glanced over at him. He was checking the sofa scores on last night’s Premier League
round on his laptop. He’d awarded Van Dijk a 2, even though he hadn’t watched the match. Harry
wasn’t surprised, but it made him smile.

He texted Liam. I was drunk last night. What did we talk about? Was Zayn with you?

I could tell, Liam responded later that afternoon. By then Harry had eaten pasta carbonara in Louis’
bed and been given a water bottle with the number 28 written on it in order to “properly hydrate”.
Louis was far better off than him but had ingested ibuprofen at least twice so far. He’d just jumped
into the shower, and Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether he felt good
enough to join him.

Instead of doing that, he pulled the duvet over his body and called Liam.

“What did we talk about?” he asked hesitantly.

“About Zayn hooking up with Quinn, but not managing to get laid,” chuckled Liam, but it cut off
soon. “And… you said some things.”

His breathing was uneven. “Like what?”

“Harry…”

“What?” he whispered.

“Never mind what you said. I’m sure Zayn heard most of it, but I got an earful of it, too… You were
very sweet, though. It’s not a big deal. We love you, mate.”

He sighed, feeling some of the nerves fade out once understanding settled. “Did I talk about…
him?”

Liam’s answer came after a minute of indecision. “Yeah, kind of. You never said who, but… ”

He knew. Doubtlessly. Harry swallowed. “I’m sorry for unleashing all of this on you.”

“Don’t worry. You did nothing wrong. And we’re friends, that’s what we’re here for.”

“Could you…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Could we just… forget this? For right now. I’m…” In
Louis' bed. He was in Louis' bed, and he was right there, only a door between them.

“It’s okay, Harry. We’ll talk later.”

“Thank you.”
“For what it’s worth,” Liam said quietly before they hung up. “I’m pretty sure he feels the same,
man.”

Harry lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He listened to Louis croon Grease anthems
from the shower and wondered if this was really happening.

A few days later he walked into Zayn’s room and found Liam there, too. They were leaning back
against the bed, joysticks in their hands and eyes set on the small screen in the corner of the room.

“Oh,” Harry said. Their last conversation still echoed within. “Hey, Li.”

“Y’alright, mate?” he asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Perfect.”

“He got an A in social studies.”

“Well done.”

“Cheers.”

Harry sat on the bed by his side, watching their avatars fight on the screen. Louis was working, and
Harry had already finished his school assignments for the day. He had too much free time before
he could wrap his body around him again, and he was feeling the effects of it. He wondered if
Louis found the time apart just as painful, or if what he was feeling was possibly unhealthy.

After kissing Louis against the car, all he wanted was to kiss Louis. It wasn’t too different from his
state of mind before then, but now he knew with some certainty that Louis very much wanted to
kiss him back. Louis also liked to hug him, and hold his hand for no reason. And he liked getting
touched, in very romantic ways that did not feel like they belonged in the “friends fucking”
category. He also thought Harry was fit. Well fit.

Harry glanced over at Zayn, frowning. He needed to talk to him. He had come over with that
specific task very much in mind. Over the past days, he’d processed the night of drinking, and he
could feel it all bubbling to the surface.

Liam was lost in the video game, but it seemed so was Zayn. Harry cleared his throat. Neither of
them looked up. Harry touched Zayn’s shoulder with his toe. He glanced past his shoulder for a
brief second, but his eyes returned to the screen.

Harry poked him again.

“What, mate?”

“Can you stop for a second?”

“Uh-uh. I’m winning.”

“You’re not.”

Harry glanced at Liam, and then at Zayn. He pressed his lips down and inhaled through his nose.
“I think I’m in love,” he said seriously.
Both of the boys stopped moving. Synchronised, they looked at Harry, at each other, and then said,
“Pause.”

Harry exhaled heavily, and the game was promptly turned off. The boys looked serious and
concerned. They were actually doing this. Talking about it.

When Zayn finally met Harry’s eyes, there was a slight grimace on his face. “Are you sure?” he
asked.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“How can you be sure?”

His chest contracted in a rather painful manner. “I know it. I can feel it.”

“How?”

“Even though they can be mean sometimes, they’re a good fucking person. I know that. I can see it.
It’s taken time to grasp, but I’m certain of it. They make me feel all kinds of things, but I think that
comes with it. Being in love.”

Zayn nodded. “Maybe.”

“You happy?” asked Liam, brow arched. “You don’t sound… thrilled.”

Harry threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know! I’ve never been in love before. Can you even be
happy about being in love if you don’t know if the other person loves you back?”

“But, I mean, all things considered, are you happy with your… person?”

Harry swallowed. Was he happy, in general, in life? He wasn’t so sure. Was he happy when he was
with Louis? Yes. “Yeah, I guess.”

Zayn frowned. “Does h — they, does they love you back?”

Harry’s teeth clenched. “How can I know that for sure?”

Liam cleared his throat. “I think he’s… I mean, I think I know someone who’s a little in love, too.”

“What?” His heart picked up in pace, and his voice turned strangled. In love? Liam thought Louis
loved him? It was a big leap from being “pretty sure”. “You think, or you know?”

“… I think.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good enough, Liam.”

“Calm it, Harry,” sighed Zayn.

“How do I know if he — they love me?” he asked, words elevated.

“I guess you need to have faith.”

Faith? That sounded like bullshit.

“Should I tell h — them?” Harry ran his hands over his face. “No, I shouldn’t.”
“Harry…”

“Fuck! He makes me feel fucking crazy,” he hissed. He looked at Liam. “Does Sophia make you
feel crazy?”

He slowly shook his head. “Not, like, a lot.”

Harry groaned. “Is it easy for him? This? Is it just me freaking out?”

“Do you need some weed?”

“No, I need to know if he loves me.”

Liam was looking at him with pursed lips. “He’s not much of a talker.”

“Fuck, if I don’t know that!”

Zayn shook his head. “Harry, have a joint and calm the fuck down. It’s on me.”

He huffed and slumped back against the wall. Stupid Louis. How had he become more and more
wonderful each day? He had started making Harry’s favourite tea, in the perfect manner, too, and
brought it upstairs each evening to Harry in bed. It was getting ridiculous how much he felt like a
real boyfriend. Harry hated that he wasn’t.

Zayn rolled a joint, which he shared with Liam in the end. The semi-final match of the football
championship was kicking off the next Sunday, and Harry decided he couldn’t do drugs during the
season. That night of molly had been an exception. Liam didn’t care as much, but he had no
intention of playing professionally in the future. The three of them sat there, leaning back against
the wall, on Zayn’s bed, legs outstretched before them. Zayn and Liam were getting high. Harry
was thinking about Louis.

His friends were greatly unhelpful.

At eight, Sophia stopped by. She finished off the boys’ second joint before she grabbed Liam by
the hand and dragged him out the door. Harry went to Louis’ at half past nine, kissed him in bed,
and wished not for the last time that Louis was his.

When Harry got home after footie practice, his mother was home. Harry parked next to her silver
car in the driveway, planning to ignore her just as much as she was ignoring him these days. He
dropped his training bag in the hallway once inside and strode into the kitchen in silence. There
were fresh tulips on the counter, a pot of freshly made coffee, and a bowl of clean grapes. Harry
grabbed a handful and shoved them into his mouth, chewing as he filled a cup of coffee. He’d just
showered after footie practice, and his thighs still felt tired after running intervals along the pitch.

He’d stuffed another handful of grapes into his mouth when he heard the gentle noise of someone
clearing their throat behind him. He turned around, coffee cup in hand, and was faced with his
mother. She stood on the threshold, her own cup of coffee in hand. She wore a brown pantsuit and
a black t-shirt underneath, with a golden necklace hanging around her neck. Her brown curls were
tugged back into a low bun, her make-up made with precision.

“Hi, darling.”

Harry gazed at her, chewing. He muzzled the urge to glance over his shoulder, as if she were
talking to someone else. “Hello,” he said apprehensively instead.

She raised her chin a little, eyes glancing over his body. “How are you?”

He raised a brow. “Very well. Gay. You?”

Her eyes slipped to the floor, but when she looked up, she seemed to have suppressed any
discomfort. “I’m good. How was school?”

“Good.”

“How was football?”

“Good.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

“Of course, honey.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. Then he swallowed down too-hot coffee and shoved another handful
of grapes into his mouth.

“See you later,” he pressed out and exited the room, brushing past her shoulder. As he did, he felt
her hand slide down his arm and grab hold of his free hand. He stopped instantly and looked down
at the touch in surprise. When he glanced up to meet his mother’s eyes, her face was soft and her
eyes full of quiet affection. There was warmth on her face for the first time in what felt like
months.

Harry let go of her hand and stomped upstairs.

There he spread out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was very white. The housekeeper had
cleaned his room sometime recently, and everything was tidy and orderly. His mum was
downstairs, and his father would be home from work at any time. Harry had no idea if his parents
were going to stay in with him, or had plans. Frankly, he didn’t care. He wanted to go see Louis,
but he had taken an extra shift at the fro-yo shop that afternoon and wouldn’t be home until the late
evening.

Harry had thought of something on the way home from practice, and he wanted to tell Louis as
soon as possible. It was kind of stupid because he could so easily text him and Louis would answer
during his break. Simple. But it wasn’t. Harry wanted to see his face. He wanted him to laugh. He
wanted to see his reaction and revel in it.

The next Sunday was the semi-final. They were playing two hours away at a different school, and
it was quite possibly the last match of the season unless they won. The boys were doing very well
at practice, and the general team spirit was pretty good these days. Harry and Louis weren’t
fighting on the pitch anymore, and it seemed the effect on the team was tremendous. They had fun
these days, and Harry wanted to secure that bond within the group. He also had a very good idea of
how he could get back at Stan, Lee, and Jonny for teasing him about his love bites daily, and it
tangled very much with his bonding exercise.

He wanted to tell Louis and he hated sitting in his room, waiting for him to finish work.

A thought struck him.

Louis worked in a public spot. Who could stop Harry from walking in? Maybe he wanted frozen
yoghurt today, he thought. Yup.

He sat up and rustled his hair through his fingers. It was still wet, but would have to do. Styling it
would take too long. He exchanged his Adidas sweats for blue jeans and slid a fresh, white t-shirt
on. He grabbed his wallet, keys, and Ray-Bans, and bustled downstairs and out the door. He got
into the Rover and drove into town with impatience and anticipation bubbling inside. Louis would
think his idea was funny, he was sure. Maybe he’d get a kiss, too, if no one was around.

He parked the car in a pocket along the main street. It was just across the street from Louis’ work.
Harry had been there once or twice in his life, but it was long before Louis worked there. There was
a black sign hanging over the entrance with a pink fro-yo cup painted on it. It looked like the one
on Louis’ work shirt, which Harry had seen him in once or twice. He felt a little excited to see how
Louis looked behind the counter. The thought of it was kind of sweet.

Harry slid the door open, and it chimed as he walked in. He stopped when he’d crossed the
threshold because the place was… messy. Unexpectedly so. There were napkins and plastic spoons
on the floor, and there were two or three wet paper towels crushed on various surfaces. For a
second, Harry thought, of course, this was where Louis worked.

He looked around, and found someone at the counter, kind of crouching, but not really. He was tall,
with light brown, mussed hair and blue eyes. He had to be twenty-two, or twenty-three. He wore a
black t-shirt with a pink fro-yo cup, and he looked slightly dishevelled. Harry glanced to the right
and saw Louis standing behind three chairs clumsily stashed atop each other next to a table. He
was fixing his hair and correcting the placement of his shirt. He looked… disarrayed, too.

Harry took off his glasses, feeling suddenly awkward. This was not what he’d expected, and it
made discomfort slither up his spine. However, he met Louis’ eyes. They were casually
mesmerising and gorgeous, and when he smiled — a pretty and delighted smile — Harry melted.
He couldn’t help but grin back.

“So, this is where you work?” he said, raising a brow. He looked around, noting more spoons on
the floor. “Nice...”

Louis rolled his eyes. “It’s a slow day so we were just having fun, throwing some stuff. I won.”

“Sure, you did.” Louis was good at everything it seemed.

“He didn’t.”

Harry turned around, glancing back at the guy at the counter. His name tag said “Greg”. Harry
paused for a moment and eyed him better this time. Greg.

“A minute ago, he just surrendered,” said Greg.

“And you were just about to tell me my beautiful traits.”

Louis strode up to the counter, and gracefully eased himself up on the edge, placing himself right
between Harry and Greg. Harry took a step closer, painfully aware of the small inches between
Greg’s chest and Louis’ shoulder. He wasn’t sure if Louis was joking, because Louis could easily
banter off such things. He didn’t like that feeling of uncertainty.

Louis glanced behind himself at Greg. “And those were?”

Greg’s smile was a little too nice for Harry’s liking. “I was going to say that you’re adorable and
attractive.”

Harry released a breathless noise. Had that guy just said that in front of him?

For a second, he forgot that Louis hadn’t willingly told a single soul about their relationship, and
for a second, he forgot that he wasn’t Louis’ boyfriend and that he had no right to feel offended
that someone was obviously flirting with his guy in front of him.

He forgot that Louis wasn’t his.

He crossed his arms, staring at Greg’s casual stance, his breath practically bouncing off Louis’
neck. “Adorable and attractive?” Shut the fuck up. “Rugged and handsome, more likely.”

There was nothing adorable about Louis. He was fierce, sexy, smart, and sweet.

“Rugged and handsome?” asked Louis. He sounded pleased where he sat, but Harry could barely
look at him. He looked at the inches between him and Greg.

“Yes.”

“Thanks,” Louis chuckled, staring up at Harry for a long moment.

Thankfully, Greg took a couple of steps back from Louis, giving the two of them some much-
required space. Harry made his way forward immediately. He leaned against the glass container on
Louis’ left side, coming as close as he dared in public. He stared at Louis’ face, the way his
eyebrows were raised, and how pink and sweet his lips looked. His hair was ruffled.

So, that was Greg. Who Louis had been seeing every week for the past six months.

Harry’s fingers found Louis’ knee. He didn’t know what Louis was thinking, or whether he cared if
he touched him, but Harry needed to. He needed to feel that little bit of security in that Louis was
his. He wasn’t, but Harry needed to pretend to. Otherwise, he’d go crazy. He’d go mad believing
that if Louis wanted, he could have anyone.

People who weren’t Harry. Guys who weren’t like Harry. Guys who weren’t in love with him and
craved his attention and love daily. People who were easier. Who weren’t so bloody emotional and
dramatic. Guys who didn’t force Louis to come out in front of their families, and embarrassed him
in front of their grandparents.

Louis was watching Harry. He could feel it, and Harry finally made himself meet his eyes. He felt
a sordid tear in his chest. Louis was beautiful. He was… amazing. He was looking up at Harry with
lips he’d just licked, and he looked exactly like after he’d given Harry a blow job. Harry wanted to
drag him out the door.

“What was your order again?” asked Greg. Fucking Greg.

“He didn’t order,” said Louis, and he was frowning when he glanced away from Harry. “Do you
want anything?” he wondered when his eyes returned, voice softer.

“No,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “I came to tell you I’m planning a jog for the team.”

He didn’t feel as excited about it anymore.

“A jog?”

“Yes. Team building. Jogging a few miles in the woods and stuff.” And then getting back at Stan
sufficiently. “Could be good for us before the away game, I think.”

Louis nodded. “That sounds actually good.” He sounded surprised and Harry rolled his eyes. “No,
really!” he chuckled. “When?”

“Saturday afternoon, next week?”

His hand found Harry’s arm. It was gentle. “The day before the game then. Sounds nice.”

It did, but Louis’ hand on his arm was nicer. Harry wanted to take it and press it to his chest. Then
he could feel just how hard his touches made Harry’s heart beat.

“Right,” said Greg’s voice. “We need to get back to work.”

Louis’ eyes didn’t leave Harry’s. “There are no customers.”

“Well, the sorbet needs to be refilled, and this place looks horrible.”

Harry’s eyes nailed into Greg. What did he want from Louis, really? They had clearly just fucked
up this place under Greg’s watch, so why couldn’t he wait five more minutes before they got to
cleaning it? Because of him, he decided. Because Greg evidently had a thing for Louis, and Louis
was either aware of it and playing it off, or very much oblivious. Either way, Greg had no business
breathing down Louis’ neck and calling him attractive. Louis might have been eighteen and not
much younger than Greg, but he was also Louis’ superior. And Louis wasn’t Greg’s. Louis was
Harry’s.

In reality, Louis didn’t belong to anyone. Even if Harry could’ve called him his boyfriend, Louis
didn’t belong to him. Louis could make whatever choices he wanted. Even then. Harry could just
hope that Greg’s attention was undesired. Still, if it were legal, Harry would want to bash his face
into the pavement.

Louis sighed and leaned closer. “Fine,” he said, and his hand briefly touched Harry’s chest. “Are
you coming over later?” he asked, lashes blinking over his terribly, terribly blue eyes.

“If you want?” he shrugged. He pushed his hands into his pockets. If he let them do what they
wanted, in two minutes he might have Louis in a car about to drive somewhere far, far away, or
he’d be slamming Greg’s face into the cashier.

“Yeah,” hummed Louis. “You could stay over…?”

Harry swallowed. Louis wanted him. He wanted him on his bed, in his bed, and he wanted to fuck
him. Harry had to remember that. It wasn’t Greg in Louis’ bed every night; it was Harry.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he got out. “Bye, Lou.” He walked out of the shop and heard a small “bye”
behind him.

Once he left the building behind, he felt his face drop.

Fuck.

That was Greg. Older, taller, blonder. Blue-eyed with words of endearment, breathing down Louis’
tan, perfect neck. And Harry couldn’t stay in the shop all night. God, he wanted to. He wanted to
stay there, making sure Greg’s hands stayed far off Louis’ body.

It was irrational. Louis could look out for himself. But Harry couldn’t stand the thought of Greg, so
annoying and overbearing, having the whole evening with Louis to himself.

He’s not mine, Harry repeated as he got to the Rover. He’s not mine, he’s not mine, he’s not mine.
He had no right to walk in there and drive his knuckles into Greg’s temple.

However, Harry was an emotional person. Ever since he was a little boy, he’d been told just
months ago. He’d been out of control. He’d been reckless. He could do it again.

His emotions got the best of him. Yet again.

He spun around before he’d even opened the car, and walked swiftly back across the street. His
chest boiled with overflowing emotions of pain and jealousy. He opened the door to the fro-yo
shop, the chiming noise once again hitting his ears as he strode right in.

Louis wasn’t there. And maybe that was for the best.

Greg stood in front of the counter, broom in hand and a pile of plastic spoons and napkins on the
floor. He looked surprised as he noticed Harry, coming to stop in front of him.

Harry stared at Greg.

“I’m going to say it once,” he said, eyes barely blinking as he faced him. Greg stared back at him,
eyes a little wider than before. “If you ever get your filthy fucking hands on him, I’ll break your
fucking face.”

“Uh—”

“Unless he says otherwise, you better keep your fucking hands on the counter and keep yourself in
check, mate.”

Harry was out the door as fast as he’d come in.

“Uh-huh,” was all he heard Greg say behind him, but the noise was a confused one. Harry
slammed the door shut and hiked it across the street and back into the car with a speed he didn’t
know he possessed. He slammed the car door shut, started the engine, and immediately hit the gas
in the direction of Zayn’s.

Fuck.

He wanted to scream.

“Fuck!” His left fist clenched and shook as he pressed it to the side of his face. His skin felt hot,
and he felt so unbearably stupid.

He had no right to do what he just did. No right. Louis wasn’t his. Louis didn’t belong to him, and
it was Louis’ choice whom he let speak to him in whatever way. Fuck.

He wasn’t his. Louis wasn’t his, and so far, he’d never said a word that implied he wanted Harry to
be his, either. Harry wanted Louis badly, but how could he explicitly say that when Louis had said
nothing that showed he felt the same way? Harry knew Louis wanted to fuck him, that he liked to
touch his naked body and have Harry touch his, but how did that measure up to wanting Harry to
belong to him, in all ways?

Harry wanted to be Louis’ so fucking badly he felt like he was going to die if he couldn’t be.

Have faith, Zayn had said. Harry didn’t know if he could handle that.
He dialled him from the car, and his friend picked up after three rings.

“You home?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to come over.”

“Niall’s here.”

Niall? Why the fuck was Niall there? Harry couldn’t handle this. He needed Zayn, and he needed
him unreservedly. Fuck Niall Horan.

“Well, kick him out!” he demanded.

Zayn laughed, but he seemed to sense the anguish in Harry’s voice. “All right, mate. Give me five
minutes.”

Harry nodded, pressing his left hand against his chest as he drove.

“You okay, H…?” asked Zayn’s voice, a hum even through the loud car speakers.

He shook his head. “No.”

“Is it… your guy?”

Harry felt his chest finally break open from the searing crack that had been tearing at him since he
walked into Louis’ work.

“He’s not mine,” he sobbed. “Zayn, he isn’t mine.”

The rest of that week felt rough. He went home each day, plastered a smile on his face, and
pretended not to hear his parents bicker in the kitchen. Every day they seemed to get a little further
back to normal, which meant their fights would become less and less concealed.

Then, Harry went to Louis’, painted a grin on his face, and pretended it didn’t break him that Louis
wasn’t fully and completely his. That it didn’t hurt him when Louis hugged him in bed because he
couldn’t whisper against his skin how breathtakingly gorgeous and marvellous he was, and how
much he loved him.

Harry went to school, to football practice, forced discomfort off his face, and pretended in front of
Coach that Chelsea football academy still was something he really, really wanted.

He wanted to get away from Doncaster. He didn’t want to get away from Louis. Harry wanted to
escape his parents, but he didn’t want to end up too far away from Louis. He wanted to play at
Stamford Bridge, but he most of all wanted to play at Old Trafford. Harry wanted to wear a blue
jersey and have personal trainers and nutritionists, but he most of all wanted to wear red and spend
the next years of his life at Manchester United’s football academy, and he wanted Louis to play
there with him.

Despite the overwhelming thoughts of the future, the days kept coming, and not once did
Manchester United express any sort of news regarding their stance on Harry joining them.

“Don’t they want me?” he asked Coach after a training session. He was starting to feel desperate. “I
mean, I’ve done really well lately. The team is doing great.”

Coach smiled at him, and Harry thought he spotted sympathy in his eyes. “You still set on United,
eh?”

“Well, I’m obviously into Chelsea if United don’t want me, but…”

“But you want United,” sighed Coach. “All young lads from Donny do.”

Harry aimed him with as hard of a stare as he dared. “Coach. Please. I’m so thankful for all the
work you’ve done with Chelsea, but my dream —”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, Harry. I was a dreamer once, too. I promise the moment I hear
anything I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Coach winked at him. Harry was just as confused by uncleared future paths as he’d been before.

It was April, and months had passed since his birthday dinner. His mother had started talking to
him again, and his father was returning to his business dinners and the golf course. They were
starting to return to normal, which was both a relief and uncomfortable. It meant his parents were
fighting again, openly. It was as though the Harry problem fizzling out allowed them to go back to
their old ways.

Evenings when Louis was busy with work, or his mum was home for the night, Harry found
himself staring at the ceiling, headphones on, trying to block out the feeling of claustrophobia his
house exuded. It didn’t help that mother was trying to be a better mum again.

“Why don’t you stay home for dinner?” she’d ask. “Why don’t you come out and get pizza with us
after practice? Tea and biscuits after school?” There was always something, and Harry battled with
the piece of him that wanted to bury himself in his mother’s love and the piece that knew it would
never again feel like it once had. There was something in the way and he doubted it’d ever move.

He texted Louis to come over one afternoon after footie practice. Staring at his homework, trying to
watch tv-shows, or read books — nothing seemed to distract him like Louis.

He was sitting on the bed, curled up against the headboard, when Louis barged in.

“You never told me you have a fucking cat, you know?” He immediately slumped down on the
bed, caramel hair uncombed and unruly.

“That’s Dusty.”

Louis eyed him from below. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“You sounded urgent.”

He shrugged. He just didn’t want to be alone.

“Hey,” Louis said. He crawled closer, settling on the edge of the bed by his side. “Are you okay?”
Harry didn’t instantly reply. He didn’t know lately. Things were getting complicated. When Louis
didn’t get a response, he raised a teasing brow. “Want me to suck you off…?”
Harry smiled at Louis’ thought process, not minding where his head was at. “Yeah.”

Louis rolled his eyes at his simple answer, but nonetheless moved in between Harry’s legs, fitting
perfectly between. Harry leaned back further, closing his eyes and getting comfortable. Louis knew
what he needed. Always. Harry didn’t know how, but his fingers and his touches were perpetually
soothing. Still. It didn’t seem that that had changed since the moment they’d laid hands on each
other that day last term.

Louis pushed Harry’s shirt to the top of his chest. His mouth placed kisses along his stomach,
perfectly aware of how it made Harry’s skin shiver and his body tingle. His movements were
deliberate and languid, and Harry’s body felt like honey and slime again. Louis’ hands were
comforting, and his mouth was warm and wet around him. He knew exactly what Harry wanted,
and in the end, Harry’s muscles tightened and released with shaky thighs and shivering skin.

“Thanks,” he murmured once they were done. Louis crawled up to sit by his side against the
headboard, his body warm and relaxed.

“S’fine.”

Harry glanced down Louis’ body. “Want me to get you off?” he asked.

“Can wait,” he answered gently. “You’re all sex-hazy.”

Harry hummed, and let his face drop to Louis’ shoulder. His t-shirt was soft, but his skin was
softer. Louis raised his left arm and quietly wrapped it around Harry’s neck, his fingers sliding into
his curls. They carded the hair back gently, brushing it backward. Harry was tucked in close by his
side, breathing slowly against him. He felt Louis’ chest move along with his inhales, and he found
the movement soothing. Everything about Louis against him was reassuring.

“Mum and the girls are going away the weekend of the match,” said Louis quietly.

Harry frowned. “But they always watch —”

“They’ll be back on time.”

“Oh.” Harry looked down, eyes landing on the fabric of Louis’ shirt. Louis was lucky. He had a
family who came to every match, stood on the bleachers, and supported him. They congratulated
him on his wins and consoled him after his losses. He had everything.

“Yeah.”

“They’re always there.” Harry couldn’t say he wasn’t envious. He was extremely so.

“I was thinking you could stay over, like, the whole weekend if you wanted…?”

“Sounds brilliant.”

“Cool,” whispered Louis. Harry pressed his face closer to his shoulder, closing his eyes at the
sensation of Louis’ light fingers scraping against his scalp. Moments like these, Harry felt like he
had everything, too. He had Louis, soft and gentle, the way he took care of him, snugly cradled
against his body. He wished it was enough for him to feel at ease. And he wished the feeling
lasted.

“If I ask my parents to come watch the game, do you think they’d come?” he whispered. His skin
felt colder, even though Louis was pressed right around him.
Louis didn’t lie. “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “But I think you should definitely ask, though.
Even if they don’t care about football, they care about you. Asking them might help.”

Harry pondered it. It was true. They did care about him; he knew that on some level. However,
they clearly didn’t understand what he needed. Maybe asking for what he needed would help. How
else would they know? Was it stupid to imagine his parents would understand what he needed just
because they were his parents? He wasn’t sure.

“You are wise when you want to be,” he told Louis.

“It’s just this particular subject,” he replied. His lips brushed the top of Harry’s head, making his
eyelids flutter closed again. “I’ve got A’s in dysfunctional families.”

They were silent for a few minutes. The room felt cold, but Louis’ body was warm. Harry clung to
him. He didn’t know what he’d do without him anymore.

“Do you think we’re going to win?” asked Louis. He was thinking about football, but Harry was
thinking about him.

“Yeah.” He said it with confidence because he really did think so. But his mind didn’t linger on the
subject for long. He knew what the team could accomplish. They were great, and on the pitch, he
trusted the boys, and he trusted Louis.

Louis. Could he feel that Harry was in love with him? Couldn’t he see it? Couldn’t he sense it
when Harry pressed his face to his neck and inhaled his addictive scent? Couldn’t he see straight
through him when wrapped his free arm around Louis’ chest and held him as close as he could?

They were holding each other. Not kissing, not groping each other, not talking about sex. How
could Louis do this and not feel something? He had to. It was downright impossible that Harry was
the only one with overwhelming feelings floating in his chest. Unless Harry was just being his
emotionally unstable self. Like always.

There was a knock on the door, and Harry’s mum poked her head into the room. Harry didn’t have
the energy to move, so he just opened his eyes and watched his mother straighten up at the
threshold.

“Oh, hi,” she said to Louis. Her voice was soft. “Didn’t know you’d come over, Louis. I was just
going to tell Harry that dinner’s ready. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, I’ve got to get home. Was just stopping by, really.” He didn’t move from Harry’s side, and as
long as he didn’t shove Harry off, Harry was fine just resting against him for the rest of the night.

Harry sighed. “I’ll be down, Mum.”

“All right,” she nodded. “I’ll see you around, Louis.”

“Bye.” His voice was quiet, and Harry glanced up to look at his face for a second. He looked
uncomfortable. Harry wasn’t surprised, but he couldn’t deny that it hurt his heart a little. He’d
caused that discomfort, and he still felt guilty when thoughts of his birthday dinner party emerged.
The guilt flared up in his chest, and it tangled with the pain of watching his mother walk away. He
wondered whether she was pretending Louis was just a friend, living in a fantasy world where
Harry wasn’t gay.

He removed himself from Louis’ embrace and scooted down the bed, eyes on the door. He still
kept Louis’ hand in his, arm stretched behind himself, their fingers knit, but he didn’t want to look
at him. His throat was starting to feel thick.

“Do you want to know something?” he asked.

“What?” wondered Louis quietly from behind him.

“They haven’t said a word. About me, being gay.”

“Oh,” he exhaled. His fingers tightened around Harry’s. “You’d never told them before, yeah?”

Harry shook his head, his throat feeling sorer each second that passed. As he spoke, he clung to
Louis’ hand. “Not a word. It was almost like it’d never happened when I got home from yours the
day after the dinner party. It’s not like they treat me differently, or think less of me, but just the fact
that they completely ignore it is worse. I know they don’t care if I marry a boy, but. Just, like…”
he cleared his throat, “maybe they could tell me they love me anyway, you know?”

Harry blinked fast as he stared at the door. They hadn’t kicked him out. They hadn’t burned his
photographs or disowned him. And there’d been no heartfelt talk. His dad had said he still loved
him, that it didn’t matter, but it’d been forced. His mother was processing. On some level, Harry
knew she loved him, but this was hard for her. And in turn, it hurt him more. It was difficult. All of
it, and sometimes at night it crawled into his chest and slashed its knives.

It felt oddly freeing to tell Louis. The boy who lived in his heart and made his body do things he
had no control over. That he knew that this was hard felt colossal.

Louis was silent for a while as he processed Harry’s words, but when he spoke, he was earnest and
sincere. “Just so you know… I think you’re very brave for coming out to your entire family. I also
think you deserve a lot of happy things.” He paused. “I’ve got your back.”

Shivers spread across his skin. They started at his neck and flew across his back. His sore throat
hurt, but the pain was overshadowed by the wreckage of emotions that collapsed within.

Louis knew exactly what he needed. He knew. He got it. He was… amazing. He was the most
wonderful person Harry had ever met, and it broke him to pieces that Louis didn’t understand how
much he meant to Harry.

I love you, he wanted to tell him. He wanted to turn around, kiss him, and tell him all the beautiful
things that he saw in him on the daily. But he was scared. Scared to death that if he did, then he
might know the truth of how Louis really felt about him. And there was a risk he’d lose him.

So, he didn’t tell Louis how much he loved him. He just turned around and kissed him, heartfelt
and urgently.

The week before the semi-final fell into a strange balance. Just like his parents had done the last
term, they were back to fighting and staying as little as possible at home. His mum would ask him
to come home for dinner in the evenings, but it wasn’t often his father would join them. In a way,
it felt kind of good that things were returning to normal. It wasn’t great, but Harry had begun
accepting that things would never feel great again. He was ready to leave this house behind and go
off to Chelsea, or United if he could.

God, he wanted Manchester. He wanted to go there so badly, and he wanted Louis to go with him.
Chelsea had become the backup. Suddenly, it didn’t matter whether or not he could have
everything he wanted at Chelsea. He just wanted to wear red and play side by side with Louis.
Louis was a great player. He was smart and had a crafty and unconventional mind for the game
that often gave way to success. Furthermore, when he actually saw Harry out there on the pitch, it
was pure magic. Harry regretted that they’d hated each other so much over the past years. He
regretted the games they hadn’t won because of it. Now, Louis could feel where Harry was on the
pitch with his eyes closed. Harry didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to wave frustratedly and beg
for the ball to be passed. Louis knew where he was, and he was no longer afraid to give him the
chance to score. It felt like alchemy.

Moreso, Louis was alchemy. He’d turned into gold. Over the months since his birthday, Harry had
stopped expecting disappointment. He had stopped expecting to get hurt by Louis’ words sooner or
later. Louis never disappointed anymore, and it made it easier to believe they had something real. It
was harder to imagine that Louis wasn’t just as in love when his words were ever caring.

One day before training, Harry was in the locker room. It was empty, at least twenty minutes until
practice started, and he’d already changed into his training kit. His cleats were unlaced on his feet
when Louis walked in, early as usual, with his bag hung over his shoulder. His face lit up in a smile
as he spotted Harry on the bench.

“Oi,” he called.

“Hey,” Harry smiled. He watched Louis drop his bag on the floor and kick off his sneakers. He
removed his shirt and began changing into the red kit in swift movements. Harry watched his bare
skin for a minute, liking the way his muscles moved and tensed with each change of direction his
body made.

When Louis turned around eventually, he found Harry staring at him. He arched a brow.
“Watching me change, Styles?”

“Always.”

Louis only grinned, sparkles playing in his blue depths. His fringe dipped into his eyes, but it only
made him look more beautiful.

“C’mere,” said Louis once he’d finished changing.

He extended his hand, and Harry took it with ease. He tugged him around the row of lockers,
hiding them from view in case anyone should walk in. Harry followed and soon found himself
leaning back against the lockers, Louis fitting himself in right by his side. Harry wrapped his arm
around his neck and held him tightly. It was the best feeling in the world. After all day at school,
finally getting to breathe in Louis was like taking his off shoes after being up and about all day. It
was a release. Nothing felt better.

They remained silent. Louis didn’t try to talk, almost as if he liked the quiet comfort just as much
as Harry did. He didn’t know how many minutes they stood like that, holding each other, leaning
against the locker. Harry could have stayed all night.

“Did you know that dolphins are the only animals that have sex for pleasure?” he said after a
while.

Louis opened his eyes and blankly stared up at him.

Harry cleared his throat. “Like, except for humans.”

“How did you learn that?”

“Facts about dolphins dot com.”

“Did you search that up yourself?”

“Was just browsing, you know.”

“Cool,” said Louis, grinning widely. Harry suppressed his own smile. Louis’ lips brushed against
his chin. “Do you often google animal facts?”

“Sometimes. Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Louis’ voice was gentler. “Why?”

He shrugged. His parents were back at it again. “Lots of yelling. Fighting.”

“I’m sorry, H,” he said quietly. Harry wondered if he could recall similar memories of his own.

“It’s not your fault, babe.”

“You know…” He squeezed Harry closer, and his forehead pressed down against his chest this
time. His lips brushed over Harry’s jersey. “I think it’s really good you’ll be staying at mine this
weekend. ‘Cause then you’ll get proper sleep and rest up.”

Harry swallowed. Did Louis really care about him that much? Had he noticed how much better
Harry slept when he was by his side?

“Are you just saying that because you want to fuck me?” he whispered.

“You hurt me, Harry. As if I’d keep you from being able to perform at your peak on the most
important match of our lives.”

Football… always at the front of Louis’ mind.

“I’m kidding,” he lied, even though he hadn’t been joking at all. He needed to know if Louis felt
like he did. Or if this was all just sex to him still. It couldn’t be, right? Not if Louis was standing
here, hugging him right now?

“You don’t actually believe that right?” Louis’ voice was nearly a whisper. It sounded odd,
unusually sincere and insecure all at once. It was the sound of his voice that made Harry more
certain that it couldn’t only be in his head that this was real.

He slowly shook his head. He reminded himself of Louis’ words on the bed not long ago. He was
holding him now, comforting him. This was the boy who had Harry’s back. The boy who thought
Harry was brave and deserved a lot of happy things. It was the boy Harry was completely and
painfully in love with.

“No. I don’t believe that,” he determined. “We’re, you know, keeping each other… distracted.
You’re in my corner?”

He wasn’t imagining it when Louis assured him, “I’m in your corner, yeah. I am.” Then he stood
on his toes and pressed a kiss onto Harry’s chin.

Those words were everything to Harry. Louis was everything to Harry. Lately, he always found a
way to make him happier. He pressed a kiss of his own to Louis’ forehead, hating it when they
were forced to pull apart because the door swung open and their teammates made their way into
the room.
Louis walked around the lockers, and Harry gave him a minute or so before he joined the lads on
the other side. He almost stumbled into Jonah, who stood just around the corner.

“Are there more of us hiding behind there?” he laughed.

“Just captain to captain conversations,” he deflected, smoothing over the awkward stillness in the
room. He sat down next to Louis and quietly pressed his knee against his. Louis didn’t look at him,
but Harry hoped he wanted to reach out and hold his hand just as much as Harry wanted to hold his.

Footie training was more fun than expected. The boys were in a good mood, and so was Louis it
seemed. It was a bit windy that day despite the blue sky, and the breeze tugged lightly at their
clothes as they ran about the pitch. Coach had them doing teamwork exercises, and the boys’
bright attitudes put Harry at ease. During a water break, Ed tossed the case in the middle of the
group. They all stretched down for their bottles, but before Harry could reach his own, with
number 17 on, a hand snatched it.
Harry watched Louis grasp his own bottle, and then with a sense of ease take Harry’s bottle with
his other hand. Harry looked up, a bit stunned, and met Liam’s eyes unintentionally. The two of
them watched in sync how Louis, without sparing Harry a glance, casually held the bottle behind
his back, inching it towards him.

Harry gripped it, but the movement, ever casual and normal, made his cheeks feel warm. It was
sweet.

Liam wriggled his brows, grinning, too, and Harry looked down at the grass as he put the bottle to
his lips. His face felt hot, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from Louis for long. He was sipping on his
bottle, chin poised upwards, and his neck looked tauntingly appetising. Tan, a little bit sweaty, and
knowing how good he smelled after training was making Harry’s legs tingle enough as it was.

As Coach called them back to training, they placed their bottles back in the case. Louis silently
reached for Harry’s, and it was enough for him to feel like flying. His chest felt open and full of
flowers, while his feet felt lighter than ever. He wanted to seize Louis and run away with him.

“Right,” said Coach once they had gathered again. “Piggy-back races. Let’s pair up.”

Ed, standing by Harry’s side, claimed him instantly as his teammate. The boys were competitive,
and so was Harry. Winning was a natural urge to him, and playing in a team with a winning culture
had them all on their toes. They lined up behind the goal line, and Ed swung himself onto Harry’s
back. At the sound of Coach’s whistle, they were off. Harry ran, and even with Ed on his back, he
was fast. He hit the centre circle first of all of them, but by the time they were halfway back to the
goal line, Stan was passing him, Louis cheering loudly on his back. Harry pushed forward, Ed
tugging his headband as though he were a horse, but it seemed Stan was the winner at the end of it.

“Oi, oi! Look who’s the winner again!” shouted Louis as if he’d get a medal.

Stan was just as obnoxious about it, dancing in front of Harry and Ed victoriously. “Harry is taller
and has more muscles, yet I run the fastest with Louis on my back.” Their teammates laughed
exuberantly at his show of emotions.

Harry scoffed, but did it good-naturedly. “Louis literally weighs nothing!”

“I could do it with Ed on my back as well,” he said confidently, placing his hands on his hips.

“Oh, really?” Harry doubted it. Louis was compact and muscled, but he definitely didn’t weigh
more than Ed.
“Yes, really.”

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Let’s go.” He turned and searched for Louis among the boys. “Lewis,” he
said, finding him wiping sweat off his forehead.

“How am I involved?” he asked, a brow arched, but he looked intrigued.

Stan positioned himself behind the line again, next to Harry. “We’re switching. Ed, get on my
back.”

Harry waved at Louis, already having decided that he couldn’t lose to Stan of all people. Especially
not after his daily smirks and brow-wiggles at Harry’s ribcage. Harry wanted to make him lose
more than he wanted to win, but he also didn’t mind the feeling of Louis’ thighs wrapped around
his waist. Under the guise of competition, he didn’t think Louis would mind sharing a few touches.

It appeared he was right. Louis jumped onto his back without hesitation, and snugly fit himself
around Harry’s back. His hands clutched the front of his shirt, arms placed over his shoulders.
Harry wrapped his arms under Louis’ knees and held him firmly in position. Louis’ cheek almost
touched the top of his head, and he felt momentarily fazed by the close proximity. They were in
public. He was embraced by Louis’ whole body.

He shook most of the nerves away, but a small flicker of it remained under the surface.

“If you win, I’ll give you a congratulatory blow job tonight.”

Harry laughed aloud. The nerves fluttered, but Louis’ whispered words against his ear made his
stomach jump. Once again, Louis had put him at ease, and it felt so incredibly good. Sometimes,
his mind made up the idea that Louis was perfect. He knew he wasn’t, but sometimes it felt like he
at least knew Harry perfectly. He always knew what to do to make him feel better, and that was
rare to find in people.

So, as they bolted across the pitch, Harry with Louis and Stan with Ed on their backs, he felt good.
For a brief moment, he felt happy. Free. His thighs burned, his calves ached slightly, and his throat
filled with air that was both lukewarm and fresh all at once. It was nice.

He was faster than Stan, and his teammate didn’t like it. Harry didn’t notice until Louis yelled, “Oi!
Cheating!”, but it was too late by then. He caught a glimpse of Ed’s boot right before it pushed into
his hip, right beneath Louis’ knee. He stumbled due to the speed at which they were running, but
the antics only made him laugh. Louis’ voice was amusing and his body comforting.

“Keep straight, Styles,” Coach yelled at Harry as he righted himself.

The words were funny, and before Harry had thought it through, he called out, “I’ve tried, but I
can’t.”

He didn’t have time to feel shocked at his own words, because Louis was laughing whole-heartedly
above his head, cackling at the joke as if they were delivered from Michael McIntyre, and Stan was
making down towards the team just as fast as he was.

Louis grabbed a firm hold of Ed’s shirt.

“Fucking cheater, Tommo!”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game, mate!”

Ed kicked out at Harry again and he squawked just as loudly as Louis, the two of them belting out
insults at their opponents. Harry made his legs move faster, despite the weight of Louis, and Ed’s
attacks. Finally, just before the finish line, one of Ed’s legs got a good hit in, and Harry stumbled
under Louis, both of them falling sideways into Stan and Ed over the line. Harry landed flatly with
Louis underneath him, while Ed and Stand became a large heap on the grass.

He heard Louis’ groan, and instantly felt concerned. “Are you okay, Lou?”

“Nobody better have a broken leg because we need to fucking murder on Sunday!” one of the boys
yelled.

“We won!” Louis announced and lifted his arms in ecstasy. There was a victorious grin on his lips
and Harry felt relief simmer flash through him.

“You’re fine then?” he double-checked.

He sat up, nodding. “Very fine.”

His hair caramel hair was swept across his forehead, and his t-shirt hung taught across his upper
chest. Harry could do nothing but agree that he was, indeed, truly fine. Fit. Well fit.

Harry stood up and pulled Louis with him. Louis grinned, meeting his eyes briefly before diving
into another argument with Stan about the race. Harry joined in, loving the feeling of being on
Louis’ team for once.

After practice, Harry went home, showered, and momentarily contemplated asking his parents to
watch the semi-final that Sunday. Louis’ words of advice echoed in his mind, but he felt resistance
battle his small set of encouraged thoughts. What if they simply said no? Or what if they said
maybe, and then didn’t show? Perhaps he was better off not knowing the result. Maybe it was
better to protect his heart from further injury.

As he met his mum in the kitchen, he contemplated asking her one more time.

“What’s up, dear?” she asked, looking up from her iPad where she leaned against the worktop. She
wore jeans and a black blouse, and dark curls framed her face delicately. Harry looked down at his
feet, realising the two of them had dressed very similarly. He also wore light blue jeans, fashioned
with a black t-shirt and sneakers. He held on to his navy hoodie, fingers cramping around the
material at his stomach.

“Um, I’m staying with Louis this weekend.”

“Oh?” She didn’t look horror-stricken, or repulsed by the idea. She looked composed, like she
didn’t mind it so much. Harry hoped that was what she felt. “I hope I’ll see you Sunday evening
then, before bedtime.”

It was the perfect opportunity to tell her about the match, and ask her to come.

“Me, too,” he mumbled instead, grabbed his bag off the floor, and strode out into the living room,
through the hallway, and out the front door.

In the car, he wondered if he’d done the right thing or not. By the time he reached Louis’ house, he
still didn’t know.

He parked on the street in front, grabbed his bag, and trudged up the small path to Louis’ stone
porch. Someone had planted a purple flower in a huge pot that hadn’t been there the other day, but
Harry kind of liked the colour. He knocked on the door and waited a good three minutes before it
swung open.

There, he stood. In black shorts and a white t-shirt. He wore sports socks, and his hair looked damp
from his shower still.

“You could just walk in, you know,” he said. “We’re alone.”

A smile started to grow on Harry’s lips. “We’re alone,” he repeated slowly.

Louis rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, too, as he turned around and walked into the house.
“Don’t get any ideas now.”

Harry closed the door behind him and stepped out of his shoes. He left them on the doormat,
knowing there was no need to hide them tonight. “I’ve always got ideas. Thought you knew that by
now.”

“I’m well aware. That’s why I said it.”

“But now I can’t think of anything other than those ideas.” He followed Louis into the living room,
watched him fall down on the worn leather sofa, and decided to follow his lead. He crammed
himself in between him and the back of it.

“Feeling right at home, aren’t you,” huffed Louis, grabbing Harry’s arm not to fall over the edge.

He felt Louis’ shoulder press uncomfortably against his cheek, but could only delight in the
position he found himself in. Louis smelled great, as per usual. “You invited me, remember?”

“Did I say you could steal my spot on the sofa?”

Harry looked at Louis’ jaw as he spoke. “You never complain when I touch you…”

Louis was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said thoughtfully, and it sounded as if he agreed.

Harry’s face shaped into a smile on its own accord, and his hand moved to Louis’ hip. Ever so
lightly, he let them sneak under the hem of his shirt, touching the skin underneath, following the
line of his trousers until he reached the middle. He felt Louis’ stomach move underneath his
fingers. There, below his belly button, the small hairs were soft. He didn’t move as Harry’s fingers
tenderly ran over his skin, the hairs gently folding underneath as they went.

He pressed his nose into Louis’ shoulder, the fabric touching his lips and the scent of laundry
detergent brushing over him with each inhale. “What are you thinking of right now…?” he
murmured.

He wanted to know what Louis thought when Harry was cradled by his side, when his fingers
touched his skin, and when their breathing aligned just like this. Was he thinking that they should
be together, for real? Harry was thinking that. He was thinking it every moment they were wrapped
around one another. He should be mine, and I should be his. Why didn’t Louis just ask him to be
his?

“I think…” Louis closed his eyes and swallowed. “Your hands are very long… and spindly.”

Harry exhaled a cackling laugh, surprised by the words.

“Why are you laughing?” He frowned, eyes still shut.

Harry shook his head, smiling. He kind of liked the comment. He glanced down at where his hand
splayed over Louis’ stomach, deciding he liked the way it looked. It looked like it belonged there,
like Louis was his to touch and no one else’s.

“To be fair, it’s really fuckin’ weird how someone can look so much like a frog, yet have such nice,
un-froglike hands.”

“Hey. I don’t look like a frog…”

Louis grinned, and it looked sort of devilish for a second, but he seemed to think better of whatever
he was going to say because the smile turned into something kinder. “Nah. I would take it as a
compliment.”

Harry squinted. “Would you now?”

“Yes,” he nodded importantly.

Harry flattened his hand on Louis, deliberately letting his fingers just barely breach the top seam of
his trousers. Louis squared back against the cushions as if he was making himself more
comfortable. Harry removed his hand.

“Oi.”

“See.”

Louis opened his eyes. “See what?”

“See,” Harry repeated. “You’re thinking of your own ideas, too.”

He smirked. “I guess. You can put your hand back.”

“I didn’t come here to let you fuck me the whole weekend.”

“Wasn’t expecting it.”

Harry bit down a smile and placed his hand back on Louis’ stomach. His skin was warm, and
Harry let his palm move upwards and flatten in the middle of his chest. His heart pounded strongly
and evenly.

“Plus,” added Louis, “no sex before the big game is better, right?”

Harry wasn’t sure he agreed, but he certainly liked the idea of just hanging out with Louis for a
whole weekend anyway. “What should we do tonight then?”

“I’m thinking… pizza. Beer. And movies.”

It sounded really, really good.

“Okay.” Harry smiled against Louis’ shirt. Louis closed his eyes again, and his right arm pressed
around Harry’s waist, holding him closer. Harry rested on his side, cuddled against Louis’ body.
He let his hand fall down to Louis’ trousers again. When Louis remained silent, he hooked his
thumb under the lining of his boxers.

“What are you thinking?”

“Right now, I’m thinking about pizza.”

Harry looked up at his face, throat suddenly tight. “Louis…” I’m so fucking in love with you.

“What, love?” he asked after a few moments of silence.

Harry’s inhaled and was met by Louis’ blue, blue eyes. His heart stuttered.

“Erm… should we order now? The, er, pizza.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it had to do.

“Yeah, definitely.” Louis sat up and grabbed his phone from his pocket. Harry moved reluctantly.
“I’m gonna’ have pepperoni, I think. Do you want the one with burrata and rocket again, or that
god-awful one with courgette and bell-pepper? No, don’t say anything. You’re getting the rocket
one. You didn’t like the garlic on the other one, right? Fuckin’ hell, it was bad. We’ll get the
pepperoni and the rocket, and split it. Sound good, eh?”

Harry only nodded. It kind of baffled him how much Louis actually remembered. The boy by his
side was so mum on his feelings and yet so open all at once. It wasn’t about what he said, it was
about what he did. His actions did speak louder than words, and for the last few months, he had
only done things that made Harry think it was possible he felt like Harry did. He didn’t dare decide
for himself that Louis loved him, but hope was suddenly there. Perhaps Louis didn’t know that
Harry loved him, but maybe he felt something.

Louis’ hand touched Harry’s curls momentarily, just behind his ear. “Hey? I’ll pick up the pizzas
and you can choose the movie in the meantime, all right?”

Harry nodded again. If they were openly dating, they could go together, wait at the parlour holding
hands, and share kisses on the pavement by the car. But they weren’t dating, and they weren’t out.
So, he’d stay and choose the movie.

Louis left and returned only half an hour later. Harry had prepared plates and cutlery at the coffee
table in front of the telly, and when Louis strode in, he was actually hungry. Louis instantly
dropped the pizza on the table and flopped down on the sofa, thigh pressed right up against
Harry’s, casual and relaxed.

Louis remained like that for the rest of the evening. Everything he did was with an air of off-
handed confidence. He was so smooth and nonchalant in the way he pressed against Harry on the
sofa, in how his hands occasionally touched Harry’s arm when he spoke, how easily he laughed,
and how stupidly fit he looked as he arched his sarcastic brows and smirked as he looked at
Harry’s face after he said something he didn’t particularly agree with. Harry realised that this was
Louis’ real side. This was what he was like when he didn’t fight, when he wasn’t insulting
anybody, when he didn’t feel cornered, or under pressure. This was Louis Tomlinson at ease.

Harry loved him more because of it. He loved the feeling of Louis’ hands, of his warmth, and
mostly he loved the way Louis behaved like it was the most natural thing in the world that Harry
should be wrapped under his arm as they watched a Disney animation on the telly. It felt real.

And when they finally went to bed, slipping in under the duvet after hours of just being next to
each other, all Harry could think about was Manchester United Youth Academy. All he could think
was that he had to get into Manchester, because if he didn’t, Harry would end up watching Louis
slip through his fingers while he moved one-hundred-and-sixty-three miles from him.

Just the thought of it made him feel sick.

 Chapter 14

Harry woke up to the smell of burnt butter.

He opened his eyes, rolled over, and promptly realised Louis wasn’t in bed. He sat up and looked
around the room, hand scratching through his curls. They reached below his jaw now, and every
training he needed to put it back in a small bun or use his headband. He wondered if he should cut
it.

He found his phone on the nightstand, and squinted at the screen. There were missed texts from
Zayn from last night. It was nearly half-twelve, though. He’d slept in way too long. Harry inhaled
another breath of whatever was frying downstairs, and decided he’d get to reading the messages
later. They had to be at the site on the outskirts of town in half an hour, and something was also
definitely wrong in the kitchen downstairs.

He leaped from the bed, brushed his teeth in the bathroom, and dressed in training attire. Once
finished, he bounded down the stairs, feeling a scent of sweetness mixed with what definitely was
burnt butter. He poked his head into the kitchen and found Louis standing in the middle of the
room, looking very much out of his element. On the stove was a flat frying pan, from which an
unlimited amount of steam was rising. Harry hurried forward, past Louis, and grabbed the pan off
the stove in a haste. There were small dots of pancake mixture on it. They looked dry on the top,
and very burned on the bottom.

“Hey!” Louis sounded perturbed, but completely unaware of the thin layer of crispiness on the
bottom of the pan.

“It’s burning, Lou!” He jostled the pan and the tiny blots of pancake mixture slid sadly into the
sink.

“You destroyed my work!”

Harry turned and found Louis’ face broken and distraught. He glanced between Louis and the pan.
“Lou,” he said softly. “That was not edible anyway…”

“How do you know? You just ruined it!”

Harry sighed. “Don’t you have more mixture, babe? Look, we just need to clean out the pan and
reheat it, and then we can make actual food.”

He gasped. “Actual food?”

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 12:45. “Actually, Lou, we don’t have time for this.
We’ve got to go now.”

Louis spared a look at the clock before he aimed a scowl at Harry. “I’m cooking.”

“It’ll take twenty minutes to get there! We have to leave now.”

“Who cares? I’m gonna’ to finish breakfast.”

He reached for the pan in Harry’s hand, but Harry jerked it away. He realised much too soon what
a mistake it was. He hadn’t expected Louis’ hands to be tender. Hadn’t expected his hands to be
soft. He had momentarily forgotten that Louis no longer consisted of that cold and hard exterior.
So, Harry’s counter move was measured with too much force. Louis’ bid to steal the pan was no
way near vigorous enough, and the unmatched movements made Harry fall backward just enough
to slip against the counter. In an attempt to catch his fall, he lay his palm flatly against the edge of
the bowl of pancake mixture, before it landed against the worktop.

He made a gasping noise and went tumbling after the bowl, but it was already too late. Bent down
and staring at the mixture now covering the floor, he sighed, long and hard. He slowly glanced up
at Louis, internally swearing.

The smirk Louis sent him was filled with such self-righteousness and victory that Harry actually
had a tiny urge to punch him for the first time in a long while. “Well. Look what you did, Harold.”

Harry looked up at him with screwed-up eyes. “This was clearly your fault.”

He smiled, evil-eyed and full of pleasure. “Whatever you want to believe, my love.”

My love.

Harry couldn’t get anything out other than, “Your fault!”

He just laughed, as if Harry’s words were so ridiculous that they weren’t even worth answering.
Harry scowled, but nonetheless picked up the plastic bowl and dropped it into the sink. He
gathered paper and a wet towel and cleaned as best as he could for a minute or two, meanwhile,
Louis ran upstairs to get his things. When most of the mess was done, he grabbed his training bag
and hurried out the door, and got the car running. He was fairly sure there still was pancake
mixture in the cracks between the tile floor.

Louis appeared way too late on the porch.

“Louis!” he yelled from the car.

“I’m coming. Relax, H.”

“We’re late!”

“We’re captains! The others will just have to fucking wait.”

Some logic.

“We’re supposed to be there first!” Captains had responsibility and all that.

“Chill out! I’m coming now.” He stuffed his house keys into his pocket and grabbed his training
bag, running towards the car. He jumped in and Harry left the curb, speeding off. “It’s not my
fucking fault we had to clean up the entire fucking kitchen before the mix got stuck.”

We.

Harry had been the one cleaning. Harry gave him a sidelong glance. “If somebody hadn’t decided
to make pancakes an hour before we had to leave, which is pretty idiotic in the first place, since
running with those carbs in your stomach is a fucking hell, we wouldn’t have had that problem!”

Louis jerked to glare at him. “I was making us breakfast, you ingrate! You’re the one who spilled
the entire mixture over the counter and the floor.”

Harry exhaled, staring at the street in front of them. “Why were you even making breakfast,
anyway?” Louis had never once made breakfast that consisted of anything other than toast or
cereal.

“Was hungry,” he shrugged.

Harry shook his head, but they both remained silent for the rest of the ride.

When they finally got there, it was ten past one, and all of the boys were already waiting at the
meet-up point. Their cars were parked in the small lot by the dirt road, and there was a small shed
with toilets, an old-fashioned water fountain, and some picnic tables. Harry had been there before,
and he knew the area and its walking paths well.

Immediately after stopping the car, Louis hopped out and announced his presence to the group of
boys waiting. “You can all relax. Your beloved captain is here.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he left the car. It didn’t even look like they’d been waiting long. “Thank
you for the introduction, Louis,” he said as he walked past him. He climbed up on the picnic table
in the middle of the group. He glanced around, mentally counting teammates. Liam was there, and
so was Ed, Lee, Stan, Oli, Freddie, Jonah… Fourteen lads. “Right, we’re all here, yes?”

“Yes, we know how to show up in time for things,” replied Liam, smiling innocently. Harry sent
him a simper in return. He really liked him, he realised. A lot.

“Snarky doesn’t suit you, Lime,” said Louis, meeting Harry’s eyes for a second, wearing a smirk as
per usual. He awkwardly climbed onto the table, wriggling precariously for a second before he
settled, standing just a couple inches in front of Harry.

“Were you riding together?” asked Lee then, and Harry could only feel slight panic for a brief
second before Louis solved the question for him.

“Yes,” he said honestly. “For captain reasons.”

Well.

Harry took a step to the side so that Louis wasn’t in his space. Or taking his space. “Any reason
you’re joining me on the table, dear?”

Louis looked like he didn’t actually know. “For captain reasons…?”

Fine. If Louis still couldn’t handle Harry being in the spotlight while he wasn’t, then Harry didn’t
mind letting Louis take a turn. He knew Louis hadn’t planned a word of what to say anyway. “Go
on then.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat loudly. “Kids, when I was your age, I was —”

Jesus Christ.

“All right, nicely put, Lou,” Harry interfered. “What I was going to say, was that when you’ve all
run five miles, there will be a surprise waiting for you back here with me and Lucifer.”

“Surprise?” asked Liam.

“You’re not going to run?” said Stan.

“Lucifer?”

“No, but seriously, are you not going to run with us?”
Louis went with it smoothly, pleased as he smirked at Stan. “For captain reasons. And Lucifer, H,
really?”

Harry held in a smile and put his hand gently on Louis’ neck. “No, we’re going to be running the
three-mile track, then prepare the surprise.”

Oli clapped his hands together. “All right, let’s go. I want my present sooner rather than later.”

Harry had never uttered the word “present”, but he certainly didn’t mind it if Oli was crushed a
little bit extra. He was a serious participant in Stan’s badgering.

Louis hissed, “We have presents?”

“Who’s ready to run, boys?” he called out, ignoring Louis and smiling pleasantly. He heard him
sigh, very much already aware that Louis didn’t like being uninformed when it came to Harry’s
plans for the football team.

“Yes, let’s go!” Oli began towing people in the direction of where the five-mile track began, and
Louis helped for a few minutes until they were all starting to jog. Once the whole group was
moving, Harry stopped Louis from joining them with a hand on his arm.

He raised a brow. “You want to talk? Don’t you remember you called me the name of some dude
associated with Satan a minute ago?”

Associated with Satan? Lucifer was Satan. But it had only been a joke, of course. For once, Harry
was in a pretty good mood. Louis had hugged him all night, he was about to get back at Stan, and
they were already having fun with the team.

He carefully cupped Louis’ face. “Let’s not fight.” He let his nose just barely brush against his.
“We’ll fix the rest of the mess at home later, all right? And then we cheat and get us ice cream,
yes?”

Louis didn’t protest against sweets like he usually did, and neither did he slap Harry’s hands from
his face. Instead, he nodded in silence, as if he liked it when they were nice to each other just as
much as Harry did.

“Okay,” he said, mouth barely moving between the clasp of Harry’s hands.

He looked kind of… cute. Like a little hedgehog again. Harry didn’t often describe Louis as cute,
but…

He killed the urge to give him a kiss in public, and then forced himself to run after the team that
had disappeared between the trees. He heard Louis follow, and they soon caught up with the boys,
who were chatting good-naturedly as they made it down the forest path.

Harry settled into an easy jog next to Ed and Jonah, and he heard Louis chat with Liam behind him.
He listened with one ear only to Ed’s discussion of his uni applications, the other focused on the
sound of Louis’ voice. Truth be told, he barely caught what he was saying, but he liked to listen
anyway.

The woods weren’t too thick, and the path was at least a yard wide all the way through. There were
oaks and pine trees here and there, but mostly there was moss, bushes, roots, and rocks. Harry’s
favourite things about forests were the scent and the air. The smell of pine and the unbothered
stillness made him feel at ease. Louis’ voice only improved upon it.
By the time they reached the spot where the path split — the red trail going right and the yellow
going left — Harry waited a moment for Louis to catch up, and then grabbed him by the waist and
tugged him aside. “This way, Lewis.”

He made a loud noise of protest. “Thanks, H. I can walk. And a warning would have been nice.”

Harry ignored him again. It was getting rather easy not being pulled into a session of bickering by
Louis. Harry had learned that if he retorted, Louis would try to win him out. He was kind of like a
puppy in that way.

“This is where we part ways, minions,” he called to the rest of the group. “See you back at the
meadow.”

Stan looked at him with curious eyes. “You’ve started talking like Louis.”

Harry swallowed, eyes narrowing at Stan even though his words made him a little bit stunned. He
hadn’t intended to sound like Louis, but Stan of all people had noticed it.

“Stop copying me, dick,” chuckled Louis, but there was no malice in his voice. He was trying to
smooth over the obvious tell that Harry and Louis were in one way or another getting closer.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He gave the boys a salute goodbye and
began heading down the yellow path, eager to show Stan his little gift. He ran at a steady speed,
knowing Louis was following somewhere behind. He tried not to think about Stan’s comment too
much, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he was wondering whether Louis had taken on some
of his traits, too. After all, they spent almost every day together. Recently, they had not just been
hanging out and having sex — they’d actually been having fun.

When he reached the end of the trail, he turned around, but Louis was nowhere in sight. He waited,
letting his heart rate slow, and after a couple of minutes, he thought he heard the sound of swift
shoes hitting the ground. A childish idea crossed his mind, and he grinned as he backed away
behind a tree. Just as Louis appeared by its side, Harry jumped out in front of him. The scream that
escaped Louis’ throat was equally hilarious and unexpected.

“What the hell are you doing?” he complained, clutching at his heart. He’d nearly fallen backward
in fright. His eyes were wide and his face was full of shock even long seconds later.

Harry laughed loudly, breathlessly letting the scene replay in his head. “Your face,” he cackled.

Louis squinted. “Is this why you were running so bloody fast? This was supposed to be a relaxing
jog, you dick.”

Harry shook his head, but smiled. “No, we had to hurry because the surprise needs to get ready.”

Louis grimaced and leaned back against the oak tree behind him. His hair was a little bit fluffed by
the run, and there was a thin sheen of sweat at his hairline. “What even is the surprise?”

“Got a water hose in the car we can hook to the tap at the side of the little shed back at the site.”

He arched his brows, and he looked genuinely impressed. “Oh, they’re not going to be pleased
about this.” He grinned widely, and Harry felt like he’d received the compliment of the year.

He made his way to where Louis was leaning against the tree and left only a few inches of space
between their bodies. Louis looked at ease where he was, only looking up at Harry expectantly as
he towered over him slightly. His eyes looked unbelievably pretty in the sunlight — so crisply blue
and sparkly — and as per usual he was obnoxiously handsome.

Harry wanted to kiss him, but as he placed his arm against the tree above Louis’ head, Louis was
simply staring back at him. He looked calm, displaying no hint of discomfort. His eyes were
meeting Harry’s without squinting, and his face looked open and amiable.

Harry liked him like this. He loved him. And at that moment it would’ve been so simple to say, I
think I have feelings for you. Maybe we should just try dating?

He leaned down and let his lips graze Louis’ jaw, barely touching. He stayed there for a moment,
taking in the proximity of Louis’ body and allowing himself to enjoy these minutes of calm
serenity.

“Was this your plan?” exhaled Louis, and his breath landed lightly against Harry’s cheekbone.

“Yeah. I came up with the surprise as an excuse so I could have you all to myself,” he hummed,
feeling his body tighten with anticipation.

Louis snorted, and Harry refrained from moaning. God, he wanted to press himself against Louis.
He wanted to take his hands and put them on himself, make him touch him in all the right places. If
he’d dared, he’d whisper in Louis’ ear and ask him to fuck him, just like that day so long ago in the
locker room.

Louis had closed his eyes. He was waiting for Harry to kiss him. He’d angled his chin up slightly,
and his eyelids fluttered, lashes long and beautiful.

Shit.

Harry moved away. He gave Louis a wink, but as he turned around, he ran a hand across his face.

I love you, he wanted to scream. He loved him, and he wished he were brave enough to say it.

He strode away quickly, ending up at the main site after only a minute, or so. Louis followed him,
but remained quiet as Harry pulled the hose from his car and began to hook it to the water tap that
protruded from the wall of the shed. It took him five minutes, and he tested it against the ground.
The pressure was all right, nothing spectacular, but it would do. Louis nodded approvingly.

After only a few minutes, they began hearing faint voices echoing between the trees.

“They’re coming,” said Louis, and Harry nodded, hand on the tap. They waited expectantly, and
when the boys emerged from of the woods, Harry spun the tap open and the hose sprayed out water
in front of him. He placed his thumb at the opening, and the water flew widely in all directions.

“What the fuck!” one of the boys yelled, and then Harry was sprinting forward as far as he could,
aiming at the cluster of boys near the trees.

“No…!” Stan hissed, ducking away, but Harry had the upper hand. He sprang at him, Louis
laughing behind him as he went. Stan raised his hands, but could do nothing but let the water
drench him. The rest of the boys were heading off, saving themselves, while Harry doused Stan
with water. The boy yelled, shoulders drawn up and hands stretched out above him. Harry had him
cornered for a bit, but Stan soon began to wrestle the hose from him.

“You’re a fucking cunt, Harry!” he called out, hands violently pulling on the hose behind Harry’s
grip.
Harry fought his hand off and aimed it straight at his neck. “Don’t you forget it, twat!”

Louis laughed loudly and proceeded to take hold of the hose, removing it from Harry’s hands with
ease. He aimed it at the nearest person, who appeared to be Jonah.

“Louis!” he yelled, running away and slipping on the ground. Harry laughed, but was instantly
tackled down by Stan, who pushed him onto the grass. He struggled, trying to fight him off.
However, he hadn’t expected Stan to be as strong as he was. Harry had only ever fought Louis,
who was apparently weaker than Stan, because Harry found himself at the bottom of the brawl,
crying out for Louis’ help.

Louis turned around, but it was a mistake. As soon as he did, Liam barked, “Get him!” and two of
the boys were hurling themselves at the hose, pulling as Lee battled Louis for control of the head of
the hose. Harry pushed at Stan, whose knee was pressing into his thigh in some sort of Brazilian
jiu-jitsu manoeuvre that he struggled fiercely to get out of.

Harry watched as Louis failed at keeping control of the water hose, dread building inside.

“Over here!” Stan exclaimed, and Harry knew what was coming before Jonah had finished the
takeover.

Louis made into a sprint, hurling himself away from the water, and Harry pushed Stan off the
second his attention was distracted. In the end, it didn’t matter. Jonah had the hose, and they were
fourteen against two. Louis ducked from the next splatter of water and ended up on the ground
right next to Harry. Their teammates gathered, Jonah handing Stan the hose above them.

Harry looked at Louis, who met his eyes before they together turned to face their team. The two of
them were on the ground, suddenly looking up at a group of very vengeful, wet boys.

“Fuck,” said Harry.

“Fuck,” agreed Louis.

Stan smirked. “Get ‘em, lads.”

They were both shivering. Their teammates had shown no mercy. They seemed to take advantage
of the moment to get back at them for all the times their leadership had burned them. All the times
they’d had to run extra miles because Louis was a dick at training, or all the extra Pilates exercises
Harry had them do when they didn’t follow their knee exercises correctly. In the end, Harry and
Louis suffered worse than Stan, who delightedly made sure Harry was thanked for his spectacular
“present.” The surprise had backfired, to say the least.

The water had drenched their clothes completely, and they drove back to Louis’ house with seat
warmers on the highest setting. Louis’ teeth almost rattled where he sat, and Harry wanted nothing
more than remove his slick, wet clothes and jump into Louis’ bed, preferably with a cup of
steaming apple and cinnamon tea.

As they reached the driveway, Harry’s phone began vibrating. It had handled the water well,
despite sitting in his pocket while he was subjected to what could be considered a type of
waterboarding. It was now drying off in the cupholder. On the screen, it said “Mum.”

He turned off the engine after parking and picked it up. Holding it in his hands, he was reminded of
her standing in the kitchen. She’d seemed… better. Hesitantly, he accepted the call.
“Hey, Mum.”

By his side, Louis pointed towards the house and began exiting the car. Harry felt his cold clothes
hug around his body, and he wished his mother would’ve called later, so he could run inside and
jump in bed immediately.

“Hi, love,” she said, and her voice was gentle. “I know you’re sleeping at Louis’ tonight, but I
wanted to tell you I’m going to Lucy’s soon. So, in case you’re coming home early tomorrow, I’ll
be there. So, you know.”

“Oh, really.” Harry swallowed. In a way, the manner in which she said Louis’ name made him feel
better. Her voice wasn’t nervous or hard, but somewhat casual. In another irrational way, he was
mad at her for disappearing off to Lucy’s again. He wasn’t even going to be home himself.

“Just one more thing before you go, dear,” she added, and sounded almost tentative.

He frowned, chest feeling inexplicably tighter. “What?”

“About, Louis, dear.”

“What about him?” He couldn’t help the defensive note in his voice. His heart was pounding now.

“Well, about last time in the shop… I really wanted to apologise, but I think it came across a little
out of ways. When I saw him in your room the other day, I just felt… terrible. It was very rushed
then, though, but I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot. Just… tell Louis I didn’t mean to say all
that, and I’m sorry.”

“Mum, what are you on about?” he whispered, feeling uncertain and shaky.

“You know? In the grocery shop. I realised he must have seen your father and me at the frozen
yoghurt shop and —”

“Mum.”

She stopped talking instantly, as if she were sitting at the edge of her seat. “Honey.”

“What are you saying? Did you meet Louis in the shop? Or what are you talking about?”

“After your birthday, dear,” she clarified. “We had a chat? He didn’t… tell you?”

“No.”

She spoke with a tremor in her voice. “Love, well. When we’ve been at the fro-yo shop we weren’t
really on our best behaviour. And when I met him in the grocery shop, I just wanted to apologise
for it. I just said I loved you, and we didn’t really mean for —”

“I got it,” he hissed. He hung up.

He could hardly explain it; the fury that felt more like disappointment and betrayal, and the sense
of humiliating that ran under the surface of it. Louis had talked to his mother. She had talked to
him. To Harry’s Louis. And about… him?

Discomfort weighed heavily in his gut. The pain of it started to bleed through his insides. Louis
had talked to his mother, meanwhile, Harry hadn’t been able to speak to her for weeks after his
birthday. And Louis hadn’t mentioned a thing.
He got out of the car and slammed the door shut with potent force. For the first time in ages, he felt
actually upset with Louis. He felt it, right under his skin. It wasn’t petty, or irrational this time.
This time it was real.

Louis was waiting on the porch. His fringe was still wet against his forehead, and he was frowning
as he watched Harry approach. He came to a stop in front of him and crossed his arms over his
chest. His throat was painfully tight, and his stomach clenched at the fact that they were going to
have this discussion. It was entirely inevitable.

“How about we talk about the times my mother has had private conversations with you,” he gritted
out.

Louis’ face shaped into an expression of utter surprise. His mouth fell open, and he looked
instantly uncomfortable.

“Apparently,” Harry continued, biting out each word through his teeth, “she’s talked to you about
me, and fought with Dad in front of you at your job.”

Louis looked like he’d try to get out of it. “Did she say all of that now…?” His voice was small.

Harry wasn’t going to let him avoid the conversation. He felt hurt burning in every part of him, and
he wasn’t going to sweep it under the rug this time.

“Were you seriously never going to tell me?” he wondered, his voice on the verge of breaking.
Looking at Louis, he felt lost. What else didn’t he know about? What else did Louis know about
his family that Harry had been totally unaware of? Louis didn’t answer, and Harry swallowed.
“How could you not?” he asked. How could Louis not tell him something so important? He felt
like he’d been played somehow.

“I —” He stopped, and tried again. When he spoke, his words were thin and laced with sorrow. “I
didn’t want to worry you.” He gazed back at Harry, brows pulled into a sad frown. His eyes were
full to the brim with pity.

Harry didn’t like it. Not one bit. But it made him feel uncertain. “What do you mean?”

Louis made a deep inhale. “Last autumn, she… erm.” He looked down.

“Spit it out.”

He looked up, face shaped into a slight grimace. “She threatened to go to her lawyer?”

It was odd, because Harry had known it. He knew it. And he’d wished that they go through with it.
Just get fucking divorced, he’d thought so many times he couldn’t count them. And yet…

He sat down on the porch, pulling his knees to his chest. He felt colder than he had all afternoon.
His mum didn’t want to be with them. She didn’t want to live there, with Harry’s father and him.
She wasn’t happy. And his father wasn’t happy. Harry wasn’t happy.

Louis quietly settled down by his side. He didn’t say anything, but his presence was tentative and
unsure. Harry didn’t like it. Louis wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be warm
and comforting — not making Harry feel worse.

Oh, Harry wished Louis could take his words back, and that his mum had never called, and that
he’d never even asked what she’d talked to Louis about.
“When was this?” he finally asked. When exactly had his mother threatened to leave their family?

“September, I think.”

Half a year ago. Before any of this had even happened. Before Harry made everything a mess, it
was already fucked up.

Inhale. Exhale.

Fuck.

He looked up, abruptly meeting Louis’ concerned, blue eyes. “Is it fucked up that I’m not
surprised?” he said firmly. “But it still hurts?”

Louis slowly shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “It’s not fucked up.”

His voice shook with honesty. “I feel fucked up. A lot.”

“Me, too.”

Harry almost laughed. They were a pair of sad fucking boys, sitting on a porch feeling sorry for
themselves.

“You should,” he joked, but didn’t come across as clearly as he’d wanted.

Louis looked up, meeting his gaze again. He shook his head at the joke, his face still torn with
sorrow. Harry gave him a small pull of his lip in something that resembled a smile. It wasn’t good
enough. He felt his eyes already watering, and his lips quivering pathetically.

He held him.

Finally, finally, Louis wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him in.

It felt good. At last, Louis was embracing him. Louis held him in a hug that Harry gave his heart
and soul to. His face crumpled as he felt Louis’ body tighten around him and his feelings tangled
around one another. His parents’, Louis’, and his own messed-up actions were running amok in his
mind.

He inhaled against Louis’ collarbones and exhaled right back against his wet shirt. Again, and
again.

“Don’t,” hummed Louis, voice barely audible against the top of Harry’s head. “Don’t feel fucked
up.”

Shivers ran down Harry’s spine. A feeling of warmth and devotion to Louis so strong he had never
felt anything like it struck through each part of him, and by the end of it, he knew every inch of
him was completely and irreversibly gone for him. There was no way out of it now.

“What did she say to you about me?” he asked Louis eventually. His face was still pressed to his
chest. “At the store?”

He spoke slowly, mouth barely brushing Harry’s hair. “She apologised for your birthday party…
She told me to take care of you. That I shouldn’t let you get into your own head, and that you like
pancakes for breakfast. She loves you.”

She loves you.

Why hadn’t she said all that to Harry’s face? Why had she said it to Louis? He didn’t know if he
could take much more of this. It was too painful.

The only thing that kept him from falling to pieces was the last of Louis’ words.

You like pancakes for breakfast.

He barely let himself believe it, but he said it anyway. “Is that why you made pancakes this
morning…?”

Harry stared at Louis’ arm, from where he rested still against his chest. He waited for his answer,
but it never came. Instead, he felt Louis’ heartbeat pound faster and harder against his ribcage,
right at Harry’s face. He felt it, and he knew the answer was yes.

They remained silent for minutes. Harry couldn’t have moved from Louis if he’d wanted to,
because Louis held him firmly and didn’t let him go even though their clothes were icy and stiff,
and the sun was about to turn orange on the early Saturday evening.

They stayed like that until a car turned onto Louis’ street and stopped right at the curb in front of
them. Harry watched a man get out of the driver’s seat and close the door with a clash that felt
intrusive on their moment of peace on the porch. The man approached, but Louis didn’t react.

Harry untangled himself from Louis’ embrace. “Lou,” he said, trying to get his attention.

Louis sighed, but kept his right arm around Harry’s shoulders as they faced the man walking down
the path to the house. The man wore a blue jacket, jeans, and sneakers. He looked like he was in
his mid-forties. He stopped in front of them, a modest smile on his face.

“Hello, Louis,” he said. He had blue eyes and greying hair. He was tall.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“I’m all right. I’m all right,” he nodded, and Harry thought, This is Louis’ dad. The one he doesn’t
want to see.

“What are you doing here?” Louis’ voice wasn’t hostile. He sounded nervous.

Louis’ stepfather shrugged. “I came to see if you wanted to hang out.”

Harry unwillingly tensed, feeling an ache of envy somewhere within.

“Me not answering your calls wasn’t an inclination to what the answer might be?”

When Louis’ stepfather answered, that feeling in Harry grew ten sizes bigger. “I found it an
incentive to try a little harder.”

Harry wanted this. More than he wanted Louis Tomlinson, even.

His fingers reached out and clutched Louis’, internally begging him to say yes. Just say yes and
you’ll be so fucking happy, he thought. Their fingers interlocked, and Harry squeezed harder. Say
yes.
“Is this a new thing?” Louis’ stepfather enquired. He was looking at their hands.

Louis shrugged. “I’m queer,” he said.

Harry’s head snapped up and he stared at the side of Louis’ face. Queer. Louis was speaking,
aloud, to someone in public, about the fact that he wasn’t straight. Had Harry missed something?
Or had he never once had a clue to what was happening in Louis’ head? He supposed not. But
Louis was talking about it to someone. He had just announced he was queer, while he held Harry’s
hand. Did that mean something to their relationship? Maybe not. But still, he liked the sound and
feel of it very much.

“I saw you two when Lottie visited, and you stayed outside.”

“Oh,” breathed Louis.

“Does Mum know?” his stepdad asked.

“No,” he whispered.

He nodded, and he looked kind of sad when he said, “You’ve changed a lot.”

Louis shrugged again.

“I thought… that you and I could have a lads’ night? Since the girls are off with Jay, us boys could
do something similar? Or brunch perhaps, if you’re busy tonight?” He nodded at Harry, who didn’t
say a word.

“I…” Louis hesitated. Say yes, Harry thought. Say yes. “I think I’ll pass.”

No. No.

Louis’ stepfather looked sad. He looked disappointed and disheartened, and Harry wanted to grab
Louis by the shirt and drag him up, push him forward and make him hug his father and say words
that would fix everything.

“Maybe another time then.”

Harry stared at the man, trying to not let his feelings show on his face. He watched him turn and
walk towards the car when Louis didn’t say anything, and it felt overwhelmingly wrong. All of it.
The worst part was that when he attempted to imagine his own father doing what Louis’ had just
done, he couldn’t see it.

When his father opened the car door, Louis suddenly sprang up from the porch. He dropped
Harry’s hand and stalked forward until he reached the spot where the car was parked.

“Why did you stop coming to my games?” he asked. Louis’ father turned around, and he looked
surprised.

“I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

“Ruin it? It was our thing!”

“Louis, footie is your everything! After the divorce, you refused to talk to me! The last match I
went to, you looked heartbroken when I was there. I thought you didn’t want me to come anymore.
I would never want to ruin a game you love so much.”
“It was our thing.”

“Do you want me to come?”

“I’ve a match tomorrow.”

“I know. A school two hours from here.”

“You know?”

“Of course, I do. It’s our thing, yeah? I always hope you do well.”

“So…”

“I’ll be there if you want.”

“I’m not sure I’ll want to talk after.”

“That’s okay.”

Harry watched it all from a distance, cemented to the porch. All he could think was that that man
over there, no matter biologically related or not, acted more like a father than his own had ever
done. Real parents fought for their kids. They wanted to be in their lives.

When his father had left, Louis strode slowly towards the porch. He made it straight past Harry,
unlocked the door, and disappeared upstairs. Harry stiffly got up. His legs ached and his stomach
felt cold from sitting in wet clothes for too long. He went up to Louis’ room, able to hear water
pouring into the bathtub in the next room. He sat for a few minutes on the edge of the bed, making
up his mind.

He had things he wanted to say to Louis, and they were diverse and needed sifting through. What
did he want to say, and how could he say it in a good way?

By the end of it, he got too cold to wait any longer. He wasn’t sure he’d organised his thoughts
enough, but he needed to talk, and he needed to get out of his soaked clothes. He stood and walked
into the bathroom, immediately finding Louis sitting in one corner of the tub, knees pulled to his
chest. The water was still running, even though it was nearing the edge. Harry removed all of his
clothes in silence, turned off the tap, and determinedly sat down at the opposite end of the tub.

The hot water made his feet and legs tingle, and the sensation was extremely soothing. Despite
that, it didn’t undo the tight knot in his gut.

Louis opened his eyes after a moment, and Harry stared back at him. As usual, his eyes were the
loveliest of blue. He didn’t say anything, and it took Harry several minutes to brace himself. When
he opened his mouth, he still felt uneasy.

“I would give anything for my parents to do what he did.”

“Harry…”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear whatever excuse Louis was going to make up. To Harry,
it seemed clear as day. Louis’ father wanted to be his father, and Louis refused to give him the
chance.

He grasped Louis’ calves and pulled his legs from his chest, undoing the uncomfortable tangle
Louis had tied himself up in. He tugged on his ankles until Louis was close enough. Surprisingly,
in lieu of protesting, Louis moved even closer. His knees landed on either side of Harry’s thighs as
he straddled him, much like he’d done that night on New Year’s.

Harry let his hands slide to Louis’ wrists, fingers locking around them in steadfast grips. He wanted
Louis to understand his side. He needed Louis to hear him now.

“You don’t listen when I explain,” whispered Louis. He looked down at Harry from where he
stood on his knees. “You don’t want to understand.”

“You don’t even bother explaining. You don’t tell me properly. I can’t read your mind to get the
seventy-five per cent of the thoughts in your head that you keep to yourself.”

Louis’ head moved a fraction. “Our families are similar, but if I tell you our situations aren’t the
same, will you accept that?”

Harry’s jaw was clenched. “Yes.” He gazed at Louis’ face, unwilling to let him get away this time.
“But I won’t accept how you’re dealing with yours.”

He looked confused, frustrated, but also resigned. All at once. “Why?”

“Because you could have the things you want, and you don’t understand that.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

“Yes, I do.” Even if Louis didn’t want it, Harry had gotten to know him. He knew him. “A whole
family. A scholarship. To get out of the mess that’s your life.” It was basically all of the things
Harry desired, too. Missing only one thing.

“You don’t know anything,” he murmured, but Harry could tell from the sound of his voice that
the words meant nothing. There was no substance. They were said just to be said.

“You don’t listen to me.”

The next question felt genuine. “Why would I?”

Because I love you.

“I know you,” he insisted. It counted for something.

Louis swallowed, and his eyes seemed more piercing than ever. “I know you, too.”

Did he? Maybe he did. At any rate, Harry wanted Louis to know him. He wanted to share all of
himself with Louis, and he wanted Louis to share all of himself with him.

The urge spread like fire throughout his limbs. He let his arms wrap around Louis’ torso, his
forearms falling flat against his back as he tugged him in. His chin landed against the middle of
Louis’ stomach, and he felt his even, deep breathing move beneath his face. He looked up at him,
seeing his neck and the line of his jaw above.

“You should listen to me.”

“Why?” he asked again, always the inquisitive, the cynical.

Harry inhaled. “Because I know better this time. And I need you to trust me.”

“And if I do?”
“Then you won’t regret it.”

Harry moved slightly off, enough to meet Louis’ gaze. His breathing was getting more laboured,
deeper, and as their stares bored into one another’s, the silence grew thick and full of frequency.
There was a pulse there. Something quivering between them.

Louis’ fingertips felt as though they were white hot. They sent shivers along Harry’s back, from his
shoulders and down. Harry had never felt such a thing. This was different. Once more, there was
something else happening between them.

He let his hands sink down across Louis’ back. He did it slowly, able to feel every inch of his
toned back and allowing him a minute to stop it. Meanwhile, their eyes remained locked. Harry
took his time. He touched every inch of Louis’ back and when he’d felt it all, he didn’t want to
stop. So, his fingers sank further down until they were sliding across the small of his back and
down over the cleft of arse.

Louis inhaled so deeply Harry could see the junction between his ribs sink in for three whole
seconds. The sound of his breath catching in his throat made Harry’s insides flutter, and he realised
with intensity how much he liked that sound. He wanted to hear it again, and he wanted to hear it
against his mouth.

Harry got up and shifted closer until Louis’ naked crotch was pressed against his torso. His hands
dug into Louis’ arse, and he watched with deep pleasure as the expression on his face changed
second by second. He could see and feel the hardness of Louis’ cock against himself.

Do it, he thought. Make that noise again. For me.

Harry wanted Louis to know just how good it felt. He wanted to tell Louis how amazing it was to
have him be inside him. He wanted Louis to feel what Harry felt, and he wanted to show him. He
wanted to be inside Louis, but most of all he wanted to be with Louis in any way he wanted.

Louis stood from the bath with shaking legs. His thighs quivered as he moved over the edge and
away from Harry. He watched Louis leave the bathroom for a minute, and come back just as shaky
as when he left. Louis closed the door behind him, and when he walked towards the tub again, he
placed a small bottle of lube atop the edge. He climbed into the tub and straddled Harry once more.
When Harry gripped his waist to hold him close, his heart pounded hard and fast.

“I thought you didn’t want,” he whispered. Louis was telling him he wanted this, right? He wanted
Harry like that.

Louis shook his head, but it felt rather like agreement. He leaned in, and his stomach pressed
against Harry’s torso one more time. Harry kept a tight grip on his body, meanwhile, his own felt
aflame with desire.

He placed his forehead to Louis’ shoulder. He couldn’t bare not touching him everywhere all at the
same time. He wouldn’t have minded staying like that forever. But Louis’ fingers closed around his
curls, fisting his hair tightly. Harry exhaled against Louis’ skin, and couldn’t not kiss it. It was
impossible to hold it back.

Furthermore, it was impossible to not move it all along when Louis showed him that he wanted this
as much as he did. He let one of his hands leave Louis’ beautiful body for a second long enough to
grasp the lube bottle. He popped it open with his thumb, the clicking noise echoing against the
tiled bathroom with severity.
Ever so carefully, Harry coated his fingers with lube. Louis’ eyes were closed, but when Harry’s
fingertips touched him, his whole ribcage stuttered.

“Breathe,” Harry told him. He pressed his face to Louis’ body again, lips burning against his chest,
without words explaining how much he craved this. He kept his mouth there, his face against
Louis’ breathing body as he gently pushed his index finger into him.

Harry had done this before, to himself. But it was different touching someone else like that. Louis
was nervous, Harry could tell, but he could also feel that he wanted it. Harry moved his fingers
gently, but with intention. He gaged every reaction his movements elicited, and made sure Louis
liked every bit of it. A small part of him felt nervous, scared that Louis would tell him to stop, that
he hated it, but it was overpowered by the rest of Harry who loved every moment of this and could
feel how Louis arched into him, body so soft and inviting.

Louis’ fingers remained tight-knitted in Harry’s hair. The grip was unrelenting, but so were Harry’s
fingers. He used them, slowly, letting Louis experience each in addition to the other for as long as
he needed. Harry could smell the sweat off his skin, could feel it under his palm at the small of his
back.

He had never considered them doing this before, had never imagined Louis would ask for it. Harry
liked taking it, and Louis had never shown any sign he wanted to try. But as usual, with Louis,
everything surprised him. New, wonderful, marvellous things played on the horizon every time. It
was good with him. Always and forever.

Harry had no clue how long it took for Louis to want to move on from fingers, but he would have
gladly spent the whole night just like that, only touching him like this, feeling every part of him on
his fingers. But his own breathing was uneven, and his body yearned for more, meanwhile, Louis
was starting to twitch as though he wanted it just as much.

Harry bent his fingers.

“Mother fucker,” Louis gasped at once, and Harry released a laugh that was full of delight and
pleasure. It was short-lived, but the absolute bliss of it remained. He couldn’t help but look up at
Louis’ face. His eyes were still closed and his eyelashes fluttered with each move of Harry’s
fingers. He looked beautiful.

His hands tentatively released Harry’s hair, and his thumbs ghosted over the lines of his dimples.
“Harry,” he exhaled. Asked.

The answer he felt was as simple as yes.

He wrapped his arm around Louis’ waist and carefully stood from the bath, helping him out of the
water. He didn’t want to go to the bed. It was too far away. He wanted Louis now. So, he helped
them onto the floor instead. There was a new rug there, large and purple and soft. It seemed as
good a place as any.

Louis leaned back and Harry moved in between his legs. He placed a kiss on his chest again,
inhaling his natural scent. They were about to embark on something new, and it felt just as amazing
as suddenly nerve-wracking.

His heart crushed against his chest as he moved down on his elbows over Louis. His legs were
moved up, it took Harry a moment before he found enough courage to continue.

Louis’ hands slid across his shoulders, warmly telling him to go on. With Louis’ support, he was
pretty sure he could handle anything.

He did it slowly. Not just for Louis, but also for himself. He had never done it like this, and the
warmth of Louis’ body that enveloped him was categorically overwhelming. He felt Louis’ intake
of breath against the side of his face, felt how his stomach inflated against his, and how his legs
tensed for just a second. He also felt the way Louis’ palms remained calm and flattened over his
back, reassuring and soothing.

This was okay. It was good. For both of them.

When he finally bottomed out, he heard Louis’ broken exhale against his face, but also felt the
tightness and warmth all around himself. It was… incredible. He felt like a freaking virgin again,
but he couldn’t help but marvel at the sensation of Louis all around him. His skin, his scent, his lips
bitten raw, and the sweat along his hairline… All of him.

Louis’ fingers tapped his back and Harry instantly began to move, relieved and burning for friction
simultaneously. He moved, and Louis only breathed and took every bit of it. Harry felt like a
fucking teenager, eager and desperate to release, but Louis made it feel like there was nothing
wrong with it. It was how it was supposed to be.

Maybe it was because this was new for both of them, or the fact that the roles had been reversed so
abruptly, but neither of them could hold on for long. Louis came first with a hissing gasp, cum
splattering all over their stomachs. The feeling of it was too much, and Harry instantly followed
him over the edge. He groaned, exhaling onto Louis’ shoulder, his whole body tensing and flexing
as he felt the climax explode and shoot all throughout his body.

He collapsed atop Louis. Both of their breathing was ragged as they lay there, pulses high and
hearts pounding heavily. Harry pressed his face to Louis’ neck and inhaled deeply. God, he
smelled like heaven.

He pulled out of him, and they were silent as they cleaned off with a soaked, warm towel. Louis’
body was lax and gentle as he moved. Harry felt like he’d just run a marathon.

Naked, they both slid under the duvet on Louis’ bed. Harry curled himself around Louis, arm
winding around his waist. Louis rested on his back and stared at the ceiling in silence.

“I’m still shaking,” he said eventually.

“You’re wonderful,” whispered Harry against his shoulder. Louis closed his eyes, not saying a
word more. Harry leaned in and placed a firm kiss on his mouth. He added another, and then
another, unable to help himself.

They remained quiet, angling themselves towards one another. Louis’ nose brushed against
Harry’s. Harry couldn’t believe they were there. Months down the line from the last start of term,
when Coach had announced their co-captaincy. Louis hated him then; now he’d allowed Harry as
close to him as physically possible.

“This wasn’t good,” Harry realised after a moment of thought, but amusement tugged on the
words.

“Why?”

“Footie.” They had a semi-final the following evening. And what they’d said before the weekend
about sex had been completely discounted.
“Forgot.” Louis didn’t even seem to care anymore.

Harry watched the way Louis’ eyelashes painted shadows over his cheekbones. “Was it okay?” he
whispered. “You’re better at it than me.”

“I loved it.”

Harry’s forehead creased. It wasn’t because he felt nervous, but because his throat thickened as
soon as Louis had finished.

I loved it.

Louis loved this. Sex with Harry. Maybe he loved more than just sex?

Harry turned around, forcing his brain to shut up. He faced away from Louis, but it didn’t help.
Louis instantly moved up against his back and tangled his body around his, and it was impossible
not to think after that.

He couldn’t end up at Chelsea. He couldn’t.

Harry didn’t ask his parents if they wanted to watch the football semi-final. The next morning, he
woke up early next to Louis. He spent a long time contemplating it. While Louis slept, he went
downstairs, cleaned the kitchen from the previous morning’s adventures, and made breakfast. As
he cooked, his mind went in circles, but eventually, he came to the conclusion that he didn’t think
he would handle it well if they said no. Moreover, the image of Louis’ father asking to be a part of
Louis’ life replayed itself in his head, and he simply was unable to go through with asking them to
be there. He wouldn’t handle their answer well at all.

They left the house in the middle of the day, meeting the team at school. They jumped into the bus
that was taking them two hours south of Donny. Louis got in the back with Stan and Oli,
meanwhile, Harry remained in the front next to Liam. They sat mostly in silence, Harry with music
in his ears, and Liam with his eyes on a textbook. They had final exams coming up very soon, but
Harry couldn’t be arsed. Getting good grades would be good and all, but when he knew that he had
football there was something of a block inside that prevented him from caring.

The opposing team they were playing was blue. They had dark blue jerseys and shorts with white
socks, and their pitch had bleachers on either side. Harry usually liked playing away. He loved the
feeling of shutting a whole crowd up. When he’d scored, he liked to look right at them, letting the
silence and disappointment echo around him. He liked to make sure the crowd knew he was doing
it on purpose. Considering they hadn’t lost a match that season, he had gotten the pleasure of
having that feeling plenty. It didn’t make sense, but on the pitch, he was a different person. There,
he was confident and knew what he was doing. Next to Louis, though, he felt like a little boy
sometimes. He made him nervous.

Warm-up felt good. His body followed his movements easily, not a single twist of reluctance in his
muscles. The whole team had been unusually blessed by a lack of injuries that season, and perhaps
it was one of the reasons they’d done so spectacularly well that year.

After warming, Harry took three deep inhales, exhaling slowly, calming his nerves. They’d win.
He knew it.

“Harry.” It was Coach. He was dressed in his usual red training jacket, but his olive skin was taut
with lines. His brows were knitted firmly as he nodded to the side, bringing Harry a few paces
away from the rest of the boys. Harry felt instantly uneasy.

“What, Coach?”

He crossed his arms and stared solemnly at him. “Harry, I’m just going to get to the point. I know
you are set on Manchester United, but their scouts are actually watching the other semi-final
tonight. They’re not coming, which means that if you want them to sign you, we will have to win
tonight.”

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Don’t freak out. I am telling you because I know you can handle it.”

Fuck.

What about Louis? What about him?

“What about Louis?” he said, unable not to. “He wants to go to United, too! And he… he doesn’t
have Chelsea, or any other club, right?”

Coach sighed. “Harry. I trust that you won’t tell him. He gets too into his head. It’s better if you
don’t.”

He swallowed painfully. They had to win. They had to win because otherwise there was no chance
of Louis getting into Manchester, and there was no chance hell that Harry would be there with him.

Harry nodded, but the reassurance was a blasphemous lie. He agreed to Coach’s request, but there
was nothing inside him that even considered not telling Louis the second he walked away.

Louis wasn’t very far off. He was looking at the bleachers, smiling with crinkled eyes. Harry
followed his gaze, noticing his family. All of them. Louis’ father, the twins, Lottie, and Jay. And
Fizzy, too. Harry hadn’t seen her in years, but he knew it was her. She looked just like Lottie, only
taller and with hair the colour of Louis’. Harry felt as happy for him as he was envious of him, but
he had more pressing matters at hand.

He caught Louis’ shoulder right before the loud noise of the ref’s whistle.

“They’re not here,” he said, trying but failing to hide the anxious note in his voice. “He watched
Louis’ face shape into an expression of anguish as he continued, “The scouts are not here.”

“What?” he whispered.

He breathed in, and spoke as calmly as he could possibly manage. He didn’t want Louis to freak
out, and he needed him to focus. He kept his hand placed tightly on his shoulder. “The scouts from
Manchester aren’t coming tonight. They’re only going to watch the Championship final. Coach
didn’t want me to tell you because he thought it would stress you out, but… We have to win, Louis.
They’re never going to watch us play if we don’t get to the final.”

And then I’ll lose you.

It took a few moments. Louis’ face was blank, blue eyes revealing nothing. Then he nodded. His
eyes became determined, and he inhaled deeply. Inhale, exhale.

Harry nodded. He dropped his hand from Louis’ shoulder, letting him walk up to the referees for
the coin toss.

The match was an even play. For each free kick in Donny’s favour, the other team received their
own. Every attempt on target, every corner, every crossbar hit, every tackle. They hadn’t had such
an even match in months. Harry was continuously pressing against the other team’s left wingback,
yelling at his boys to remain focused on pressure when they weren’t in possession. Louis moved
quickly with the ball, but the other team’s sitting midfielder had him scouted. The other team had
doubtlessly done their research.

When there were only minutes left, it was still tied up. Neither of them had scored. Harry’s thighs
burned, and sweat dampened his hair. He felt pearls slide down the sides of his face, but he forced
himself to keep trying to pressure the defence in front of him. He was tired, but so were the
opposing players, including the midfielder who had fought valiantly to keep Louis as much out of
the game as he could for eighty-eight minutes straight.

But Louis was Louis Fucking Tomlinson, and he wasn’t going to be subdued forever. He received
the ball from Lee, and it arrived with enough force for Louis to simply run into its path. At the
speed of it, he twisted his upper body to the left, convincing the other opposing player he was
heading in that direction. He didn’t. He continued right. Harry began running.

Louis sent the ball to Stan, who was sprinting on his left, nearing the penalty area. Louis continued
spurting towards the middle, meanwhile, Harry cut in from the right, rounding his own player.
They were both heading for the goal area. Stan made the cross.

Both Harry and Louis were in it, two blue players pushing at them defensively. The ball soared
through the air, and Harry jumped. His hands were gripping the blue player’s shirt, but that guy’s
hands were just as harshly tugging at his jersey. Harry didn’t get high enough. The ball flew right
over his head.

It continued. Louis was right behind them, battling his own man. Harry turned, as if in slow
motion, and breathlessly watched Louis take one step backward, away from his player. He ended
up in the perfect position. The ball landed against his chest, Louis’ reception a thing of pure
beauty. It landed on his right foot. He kicked it in.

1-0.

Harry hurled himself at Louis. The rest of their team followed. He could hear nothing but
screaming, felt nothing but the rustling of jerseys, and the force of hands pounding at him with
excitement and joy.

There was stoppage time left, but Harry knew they had won. Between the grappling and jumping
by the other boys, he looked at Louis.

Louis. He was gorgeous. His face was bright, full of pure glee and relief. He had blue eyes. So
blue. He looked like an angel.

Harry watched as it happened. He watched, just like he’d watched the football soar through the air
only moments ago. He watched, unprepared and shocked, as Louis moved firmly forward through
the mess of entangled players, raised his hands to Harry, and cupped his face.

He felt it as he kissed him.

His lips were firm, determined, soft, and sweet all at once.

In the middle of the crowd, in front of people, in front of their team, Louis kissed Harry.
 Chapter 15

Harry had just turned eighteen when he became one hundred per cent certain that he was gay. Of
course, by then he had known for a long time that he was into guys, but he wasn’t sure whether he
felt the same about women.

When he moved to Doncaster, he made friends with Zayn. They were only pre-teens and
everything felt so simple. Zayn had crushes on girls and Harry pretended he had crushes on them,
too. They would make agreements on which ones they were each allowed to ask out and hold hands
with. Then, they got older and started ninth grade, and Harry saw Louis.

Zayn had a girlfriend since the year before called Joanna, and while Zayn was certain he loved her,
Harry didn’t pretend there was anyone that he wanted. Instead, over those first months of school,
he admitted to himself that he liked to imagine what it’d be like to touch a boy.

Around Christmas, during that freshman year, he became friends with Jasmine. She went to his
English class, was always friendly, and had a sense of humour he admired. Her hair was long and
dark, in a short fringe at the time, and her lips were always glistening in some kind of berry
flavoured gloss. She had two sisters. One older, Camila, and one younger, Eliza. They were sweet
girls, and often spent time with Jasmine and Harry at her house. She had a lot of friends. They were
mostly girls, and because Harry liked to hang out with Jasmine, he made a lot of female friends.
Zayn was still his best mate, but most of the time Harry found himself sitting with Jasmine at their
shared classes and lunch breaks.

By sophomore year, Harry knew he liked to picture men when he jerked off. He’d close his eyes
and think of muscular chests and shoulders, firm hands, and toned stomachs. At the same time, he
had no idea that Jasmine had been falling in love with him. He had no idea that when she
romanticised her life, she pictured him with her. He didn’t know that when they hung out alone,
what she really wanted was to kiss him. When she touched his curls, it wasn’t platonic, and when
she smiled at him with warmth, it wasn’t because he’d said something amusing, but because she
was in love.

In late January, they’d gone to a party. Harry had spent all night with Zayn, getting drunk on beers
they’d asked someone outside the large Sainsbury’s to buy them. When they showed up at their
friend’s house, they were already inebriated. The house was full of people, music was blasting, and
one bathroom down a hallway had such a long queue that it could only mean drugs were on the
counter. An hour after arriving, Harry was worse off than when they’d left Zayn’s place. The older
boys from the football team had urged the younger players to shot after shot, and leaving the sitting
room where they’d been huddled, Harry stumbled on his feet. He was headed for the front door,
looking for Jasmine’s jacket. She’d been cold and had wanted her cigarettes. He’d offered to get
them for her.

In the hallway, he met Louis Tomlinson.

His hair was shorter at that time. He wasn’t as muscular, either, but his eyes were blue, of course,
and that fringe of his still managed to brush into his eyes just like it did a year and a half later.

Harry was drunk that night. Louis was drunk that night.

“Oi,” Louis had called out. “Don’t look at me like that, Styles.”

“I wasn’t looking at you.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

He raised a brow.

Okay. He had been. Because Louis was shirtless, and a guy. Fit. Really fucking fit, despite how
much Harry hated him.

Louis’ jeans were black and tight, and the lining of his boxer briefs could be seen just above the top
button. He was leaning against the wall, perhaps waiting for the bathroom to clear out. He gazed at
Harry, eyes following his every movement.

“I know you’re in love with me, Styles. You don’t need to pretend.”

Jesus.

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes as he leaned back, away from the row of hanging jackets his hands
were carding through. “Am I, really, or do you just want me to be?”

Louis scoffed, but subsequently released a breathy laugh. “So full of yourself, Harry-boy…”

“I’m full of myself? You’re the one suggesting I’m in love with you.”

He quirked a brow where he stood against the wall, endlessly teasing. “Aren’t you?”

Harry shook his head, averting his eyes and aiming them towards the coat rack again. His hands
rifted through the unending row, searching for Jas’ puffer. He felt movement on his left, and
looked up to find Louis right by his side. He was bare-chested, obnoxious, and smiling slyly. His
body was mere inches from Harry’s elbow.

“So, you’re saying…” hummed Louis, “you feel nothing.”

Harry glared. “Yes.”

“Certain?”

“Yes.”

“Not even…” He lifted his hand, and it grasped Harry’s wrist firmly. The grip was tight, but not
painful. Harry watched, heart beating, as Louis placed Harry’s fingertips against the centre of his
own stomach, “when I do this?”

Harry’s fingertips touched Louis’ skin. He was warm — hot, actually. His collarbones were
protruding slightly above, and his stomach raised and lowered with each breath. There were fine
hairs below his belly button. Harry kept his gaze on his own fingers for a second too long. He
looked up, but Louis was already grinning at him, evil and victorious.

“I think you’re lying,” he whispered, chin protruding a fraction as he said it.

Harry ripped his hand off him. “Fuck you.”

Louis cackled boisterously. “See you at training, Styles.” He left the hallway, laughing to himself
as he went.

Harry hated him. And he hated more that Louis was right. He wasn’t in love with him, but he
certainly was affected by Louis’ naked presence. And when Louis had taken his hand and pressed
it to himself, Harry couldn’t for the sake of him not picture grabbing Louis freaking Tomlinson by
the waist to kiss him senseless against the wall.

Fuck.

It didn’t mean anything.

Snap-clap-forgotten.

But as he had walked back to Jasmine, her puffer jacket and cigarettes in hand, he was pissed. More
awful than that… he’d been turned on. It didn’t go away. Louis was somewhere in the house, half-
naked, fit, and annoying, and Harry’s virgin, moronic body was yearning for him.

That night, Jasmine had planned to tell him how she felt. And when she did, Harry was drunk. He
was also horny and pissed off. She told him she wanted them to go out, so he kissed her, and they
spent the rest of that night snogging each other on a dark couch in the corner of a crowded room.

For the next month, he convinced himself he liked it. He convinced himself it felt romantic when
she held his hand at school, and that it gave him shivers when she ran her hands over his arms. He
thought her kisses felt good, but really, it was just the fact that he was kissing someone that he
liked.

Simultaneously, he was certain that he liked her. He loved her even, as a human being. As a friend.
She was cool, funny, and kind, and they had fun. It was only when she wanted him to touch her
body that he had to actively convince himself it was still just as fun to be with her. For a minute, he
believed that he liked boys and girls.

Two months after that party, they still hadn’t gone further than kissing and touching outside of
clothes. Jasmine said he was a gentleman, but truthfully, he wasn’t feeling too interested in slipping
his hands under her shirt or sinking them down the front of her jeans.

One late afternoon after footie training, they were sitting on her bed. She had just finished her
homework, and his curly hair was wet from a recent shower. He wore a t-shirt, and she had on
jeans and a tank top. She leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, so he kissed her back. It
went on for a few minutes, until she placed her lips to his ear.

“Let’s have sex,” she murmured.

No, he thought sincerely. Let’s not.

But it wasn’t easy to say those words. What teenage boy didn’t want to sleep with the girl who was
basically his girlfriend? How could he say no without hurting her feelings, or revealing that he
wasn’t into girls?

Her hands roamed all over him, and he gently placed his on her hips. She motioned them down on
the bed, and their clothes began to fall onto the floor. Harry’s heart beat painfully against his ribs,
and his mouth fell unbearably dry, but between the kissing and the press of legs against one
another, he couldn’t find the words to say STOP.

His body felt it, though. His trousers were almost undone, hiked down his thighs, and Jasmine
wore just her bra and her jeans. Her hand moved down to his crotch, and he shot off the bed like a
rocket.

“Harry,” she gasped, shocked at his sudden movement.

“Sorry,” he breathed. He shook his head, feeling the back of his neck heating. He grabbed his t-
shirt off the floor and began pulling it over his head.

“What’s wrong, babe?” she whispered.

“I can’t do it,” he exhaled. He could feel his heart punch through his throat. He zipped up his
jeans. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jas. Sorry.”

He couldn’t look at her. He got fully dressed and then he stood there, still, his back towards the
bed. Jas hadn’t moved.

“Is it…?” she asked quietly. “You don’t want me?”

“I just —” He stuttered. His mind flew a million miles an hour. “I can’t do it. It doesn’t work.”

“You’re… You can’t get it up?” Her voice was tentative and small. “Is that why… why you didn’t
try before?”

He spun around vehemently. He wanted to protest against her thought process, but when he turned
around, he saw her naked chest, barely covered by her bra and arm. Then, the hurt expression on
her face. She looked entirely vulnerable. “Jas… I’m sorry. It’s not you.”

“Me?”

“It’s not. It’s not. I just… I can’t,” he begged.

Her face was pulled into an expression of absolute confusion. “Are you not in love with me?”

He stared back at her. Words didn’t come.

“You don’t love me?”

The pain on her face was too much. “I’m sorry,” he implored, feeling hot tears in his eyes. “It’s not
you, Jas. It’s not… you.”

“Are you…” she said, and her brows slowly turned downward and landed in a dark frown. Her
eyes looked impossibly hard. “Are you fucking gay?”

It wasn’t nice the way she said it. It wasn’t shocked, or surprised. It was mean. It was disgusted.

Harry’s mouth was completely dry. He felt nauseous.

“Get out,” she said. “Get the fuck out.”

He didn’t hesitate.

The instant that Louis’ mouth left his, Harry leaned back. His finger touched his bottom lip. The
kiss had been fast, chaste, short.

The action pulled him into a state of shock. He’d felt Louis’ lips collide with his, and his world
swooped into an ice-frosted halt.

Louis…
Louis, his body sobbed.

He had… He had never. He’d never ever shown a sign that he wanted to share their relationship
with anyone. He’d yelled, complained, and called Harry a bloody trainwreck because of his
position for the opposite. And here he was. Doing this.

A million thoughts raced through Harry’s mind as confusion and surprise crushed into one.
Somewhere, deep down, blood-red lipstick and evil hawk-eyes clawed at his core.

His feelings made themselves known on his face; he couldn’t stop it. It was as if turning open the
tap on a reminder of the fear that had paralysed him for the better of the school year, and every day
since Jasmine had decided she’d hunt him and burn him at the stake. The water poured out, heavy,
and intimidating.

He remained where he was, petrified. The shock had grabbed him by the throat.

He noticed Ed’s face first. He had seen it, up close. Harry’s mouth was open and breathing thickly
as he took in the look on his face. He was indubitably astounded, but… not disgusted. Just…
surprised.

Harry felt the limbs of his other teammates bump into his body as they got up from the heap they’d
landed in after the goal. His eyes shot back to Louis. He had gotten up and was dusting off his kit.
Nothing about him looked like he’d just had his mouth on Harry’s.

Harry followed his movements, heart punching fist after fist into the bottom of his throat. The
cluster of Donny lads was dispersing, and each of them returned to their side of the pitch to finish
the match. The moment of the kiss had fleeted by, but it had knocked the breath out of Harry and
slid out from his grasp before he could catch it.

He was walking away. Louis was quickly positioning himself behind the middle circle, and for the
life of him, Harry wouldn’t ever remember what happened during those last moments of the
football match. Afterwards, all he knew was that they’d won, and they were headed for the
championship final. He’d remember thinking about Louis’ firm hands, determined eyes, and his
mouth meeting his. He’d let him go… and then. His eyes. Harry’s brain would spend weeks raking
over the second that he had then only registered, but not yet processed. Louis’ eyes. Just as he
released him… simple adoration.

The ref’s whistle declared their victory. The boys yelled and danced all the way to the locker room,
and Louis disappeared in the throng of bodies where he remained entirely unattainable for the rest
of the evening. Harry watched him talk to their teammates, the Coach, and his parents, while his
own muscles were overpowered by mindless indecision. And after showering, Louis was gone.
Harry glanced around the locker room, asking for him, just for Stan to shrug and say he’d be riding
with his family back to Donny.

He was officially out of reach, and Harry curled up in his bus seat on the way home, stomach tight
and fighting the return of nausea. It’d come in belligerent. It was a strike in the face. Knock-out.

He glanced around himself, thoughts erratically spinning in circles where he couldn’t quite catch
them.

During the game, he’d glanced around in panic, watching for signs that his teammates, Coach, the
crowd… anyone had seen that kiss. It seemed no one apart from Ed. None of his teammates
mentioned a thing, and there were no odd looks finding him across the bus aisle apart from Ed’s.
Yet every single glance from his red-headed teammate made Harry falter in his movements.
His stomach hurt. His lips still felt the soft touch of Louis’.

They got back to Doncaster, and Harry staggered out of the bus and into his Rover. He’d hugged
the players and told them how splendidly they’d all performed that night as if in a trance. But when
Ed had reached him, Harry had hesitated. Ed paid it no mind, only hugged him briefly, patting his
back and mumbling, “I won’t say anything” into his ear so quietly Harry felt his breath tickle his
curls.

The shock was starting to settle by the time he parked the Rover outside his house.

That kiss meant something. It did, and there was no way around it.

His mother and father were sitting in the living room as he strode into the house. They were
focused on a piece of paper, his mother holding a pencil as they both stared at some sort of list with
deep frowns. They hardly noticed him as he walked into the house, stuck in his wreckage of a head.
He found his way upstairs and collapsed on the bed. They’d just made it to the Championship final,
but football had ceased to exist.

For a good hour, he did nothing. Felt nothing. But once his eye-line had touched upon every inch
of the ceiling, that strange, restless feeling in his bones arrived. It always came, at home alone. It
didn’t seem anything could hinder it.

He lifted his phone and stared at the endless stream of nightly texts between himself and Louis.

Louis: coming over?

Harry: yes!

Louis: you can come if you want

Harry: coming

Louis: you can come now

Harry: yes daddy
Louis: for fuck’s sake harry I swear to god
Harry: jk im on my way
Harry: …daddy

Harry didn’t eat dinner. Didn’t fuel up and reload his body after training as he should’ve. He
stayed in his bedroom. He stared at his phone for so long that his neck ached from the position he
was curled in. He fell asleep at some point, and when he woke up it was dark outside. The light of
street lamps shone in through the window.

He groaned and sat up, a little disarrayed. He looked around, blinking heavily at the room around
him. His phone rested right by his pillow. Harry picked it up, and the screen flashed brightly. It
was empty. It was two-thirty AM.

Louis hadn’t texted. But then again, neither had Harry.

Déjà vu came and faded; this was different.

Questions irked him all night, and when he woke up, he had no answers. The evening before still
tumbled within him, and even though he’d had hours to process, it wasn’t easy to grasp hold of
much.

It felt wrong, waking up alone, and having breakfast by himself. Normally, he’d be having tea with
Lottie by now, and then in a few minutes’ time, he’d sneak back to Louis in bed. Instead, he was
sitting alone in a clean, empty kitchen, staring at a piece of toast on the table. It was difficult to
chew. He wondered whether Louis was munching down cereal at this moment, or if swallowing
hurt his throat just as much.

Louis. He loved Louis. His Louis.

Harry knew that a big part of him hadn’t been scared to be out for some time. His family all knew,
and his best friends knew. Louis’ bloody neighbour knew. So, Jasmine no longer frightened him in
the same way she’d used to. But her face lingered between the cracks. Her words from the past
were electrical eels shooting out of crevices and hidden places. She hadn’t done anything about her
threats, but the emotional calamity they had caused persisted.

If she ever outed him, it would be done with malice, to hurt him. As if being gay could be turned
against someone, just like that.

Louis, though… His Louis. His charming, wonderful, golden human being, who’d stood on a bed
and danced to fucking 50 Cent only to make him smile… He had kissed him in front of everyone.
In front of their team, the crowd, and people they didn’t know, and it had frightened him more than
he would’ve ever thought. He’d been so occupied loving Louis that he’d forgotten to deal with the
damage and wounds left by Jasmine.

But Louis wasn’t scary, he reminded himself. Louis was warm, a fire pit of passion, and when
under his wing all you wanted was to stay there. Louis wasn’t out to hurt him; was putting himself
on the line, too.

For what? For love?

He didn’t dare believe it. Was it a moment of ecstasy and amnesia, spiked by a shot of adrenaline,
then?

He got into the car, in a mental limbo of fear and loving Louis.

Harry arrived at school, parked, and dragged his steps towards the first class. He knew he was in it,
but his mind boxed it up with duct tape.

He didn’t know what would happen, but he couldn’t bear the anxiety his raging thoughts provided.
He was used to feeling worried walking into school, but he’d never been as concerned when it
came to Louis. Now, he suddenly didn’t know where they stood.

That kiss… It meant something. But what? Louis had disappeared so quickly, making it difficult to
know what he’d say today. Were they going to ignore it, and go back to normal? Would they
actually… talk about it? And if they did, was Harry finally going to tell him how he felt?

He reached the classroom, but before stepping inside he took a deep breath. He inhaled through his
nose and released from his mouth. He took five steps, and then he was inside. He abruptly stopped.
Louis was already sitting at his desk. He wore track bottoms and a white t-shirt, and it was nothing
out of the ordinary. But he looked down.

When they saw each other at school, they’d smile. Just an inch. Or raise a brow followed by a
smirk, private and covert. However, as Harry walked in that morning, their gazes catching, Louis’
eyes instantly dropped to his desk. No smile, no greeting, no nothing. His blue eyes were simply
gone.

Oh, thought Harry. Oh.

He averted his eyes and walked to an empty table, as far from Louis as possible. He felt his insides
crumple, but he couldn’t let it show. Not there, not in front of everyone.

What was happening right now?

Harry stared at the top of his desk. The class began around him, but he saw only pencil marks and
scratches.

In the midst of his own confusion, he had forgotten to truly consider what Louis had been thinking
last night.

Louis had disappeared awfully quickly after the match. Harry couldn’t even catch his eyes on the
pitch. And he knew he’d been in a state of full shock, utterly unresponsive, but Louis had barely
allowed him the opportunity to follow up. Had Louis even wanted to give him a chance to sort it all
out?

Did he … regret it? Did he regret kissing Harry like that?

The thought… It hurt.

Louis could have brushed it off. Adrenaline. A spur of the moment. Instead, he had fled the scene
so quickly that Harry hadn’t even had a minute to talk to him. Had he escaped because he didn’t
want to hear it? Harry’s real feelings?

Oh.

He’d taken off because he didn’t want to hear Harry say how much he loved him.

Was the kiss so bad that they couldn’t even forget about it and move on? And if Louis regretted
it… what else did he regret?

Shut up, Harry commanded himself. He needed his brain to shut the fuck up. Just SHUT UP.

He stared at the whiteboard on the wall, and refused to let his eyes stray to the boy with the
caramel hair and the hands that cradled his heart. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him again,
frightened to death he would get the same reaction as the first time.

When class ended, Louis walked out without a look back.

Harry avoided him for the rest of the day, unease tangling in the middle of his gut, but it later
became clear that Louis was avoiding him just as much. When he strode into the locker room,
Harry was already inside. The rest of the team surrounded them, and Louis didn’t glance an inch in
his direction. Once training started, he took charge and didn’t consult Harry.

Why would he? Harry feebly tried to tell himself. It was a Monday, one of Louis’ days. So, why
would he? Just because they’d laid in bed, talking about the Championship final for hours just a
few days ago, it didn’t mean that Louis had to consult him on his training sessions the days leading
up to it.

They hadn’t even celebrated the win together. They hadn’t kissed in Louis’ room, Harry hadn’t
complimented Louis’ right foot, and Louis hadn’t told him his free kick in the first half of the
match would’ve gone in if it hadn’t been for that twat of a keeper. They hadn’t told each other how
fucking great they were as co-captains.

After training, Harry walked to the Rover in a hurry, fighting not to cry.
He didn’t sleep well that night. Louis didn’t call. And in return, Harry didn’t text him.

Tuesday — a copy of Monday. Harry felt as though his soul shrivelled up and died, little by little,
every minute in Louis’ presence. His brain slashed knife-like thoughts over and over in attempts to
kill him.

Wednesday, he tried his best not to show how much it hurt seeing Louis walk into the locker room,
pull his cleats on, and pretend Harry wasn’t at an arm’s length away, yearning to hold him.

Thursday, he forced himself to ignore Louis Tomlinson completely, and not cry like an absolute
fool in the Rover on the way home from school. It didn’t work out.

That Friday, just five days after the semi-final, there was a party. It was at Jasmine’s house.

“No,” said Harry, firmly. He’d had too many beers, and Zayn was standing in front of him with
pleading, drunk, much too persuasive eyes.

“Yes, Harry!” he shouted. “Come on! You don’t even have to talk to her. You won’t see her.”

“It’s at her house.”

They were in Zayn’s room, a few cans of beer already emptied and standing on his desk. Harry
shook his head, curls flying across his forehead.

“So what, man? Everybody knows you’re gay anyway.”

“They do?”

“No, but as you said, the people who matter.” He pointed to himself.

Harry swallowed down another sip of beer. He didn’t want to see Jas, and he couldn’t exactly go to
her house and expect to enjoy her party without her presence. He was sitting on Zayn’s bed, his
head leaning against the wall.

“Why’re you stressing me?” he asked. “I just want to get drunk.”

“Alone? Only the two of us?” He raised a pitying brow. “That’s just sad, mate.”

“I don’t want to!” he exclaimed. “Go if you want, but I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are!” Zayn sat down on the bed. “Why is she still bothering you? She said she wanted to
apologise, no?”

Harry stared at nothing. His eyes itched a little.

“Unless…” His friend, eyes intensely brown and lashes remarkably long, watched him quizzically.
“This isn’t so much about her, as it is about Tomlinson.”

Harry sent him a glare from the corner of his eye. He didn’t answer, because he didn’t know how
he could deny it.

“Harry… You need to stop thinking.”

“I can’t.” Everything hurt.

“Yes, you can,” he retorted decisively.

Harry squinted at him through the drunken haze. “Was it a mistake?”

“What?”

“Me, being with Louis at all. Should I just have broken it off? You said you thought it was a
mistake, so tell me now, was it?”

Zayn sighed, frowning at him. He was perched on the edge of the bed, his thigh grazing Harry’s
right foot. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

Harry’s face scrunched up in a scowl. “Why?”

“Because of how happy you’ve been these last few months. You’ve been a lot more chill lately…
except for when you’re freaking out about whatever he said, or did, and what it means.”

Harry huffed. He took another sip from his beer. “So, it wasn’t a mistake?”

“I think you can work it out. As Liam said, he thinks Louis is in love with you, too.”

“As if he’d actually know!”

“They’re mates, too, you know.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“Harry… The last time I talked to him, he genuinely apologised.” Harry looked up at Zayn’s
words. This was the first he’d heard of it. “He apologised for being rude to me, said he was
frustrated with his friendship with Niall.”

Confused, he whispered, “When was this?”

“Like, last week? Anyway… I said he was in love with you. To him. I said, ‘You’re properly in
love with him, aren’t you?’” Zayn grabbed his leg, squeezing. “He didn’t deny it.”

Harry stared, mouth almost falling open. “Are you sure?”

Zayn nodded. “I’m sure. And Liam’s sure, too!”

It certainly didn’t feel like it was the truth. It was like Zayn and Liam’s words came from a
different world, unable to penetrate Harry’s atmosphere. If Louis loved him, what the hell was
going on right now? Why did he regret the kiss so much? Why had he refused to look at Harry in
class? Had Harry done something so completely unforgivable to fuck it all up in the span of a few
days? He didn’t understand.

Was the kiss just happiness and adrenaline combined? Or was it actually a confession of love?

If it was a question of love… then Harry had failed to answer. He’d failed to reciprocate. He’d
given Louis nothing when he was expected to answer.

And there was only one answer. It was I’m so fucked-in-the-head in love with you, and Harry
would scream it. If Louis wanted to hear it, Harry’d howl it at the moon. He’d whisper it into the
curve of his shoulder, paint them atop the goosebumps on Louis’ back, and bite them into his lips.
Then, every day he’d snog Louis’ face off in front of the entire planet. He would ignore refs,
players, and crowds, only to hold him. He’d rather feel the press of Louis’ lips against his own,
than the touch of clean-cut, fresh summer grass under footie boots.
If he simply could know that that’s what Louis wanted, Harry would do it. He’d want to do it, if he
just knew that Louis was in his corner, holding his hand through it.

“Just come. Come to the party. You deserve to have some fun. If you want, we’ll just ignore Louis
and Jas, and have a good time.”

“No.” He wasn’t going.

Half an hour later he was standing on Jas’ second floor, drunkenly playing beer pong in the space
next to the stairs.

Zayn had made him drink two more beers on their walk over, and even the cold hadn’t been able to
sober him up. As they’d walked into the house, Harry solidly ignored every memory that fiercely
launched at him. He omitted the kitchen that looked familiar, the hallway he knew led to Jas’
bedroom, and the sofa that he had once kissed her on. He’d followed Zayn upstairs, and let himself
be pulled into a round of beer pong, which he gladly lost on a mission to further inebriation.

They ended up playing for so long that Harry more or less began to forget in whose house he was
standing. Zayn, who reeled in anyone in the room who wanted to play, challenged Harry and Ed to
round after round. Harry knew he was trying to distract him, and it was working.

Lee, who’d happened to be in Zayn’s proximity before the latest turn, pelted the ball into the cup in
front of Harry so hard it jostled and fell backward into his stomach, covering his shirt in beer.

Harry stared down at it. “That shot doesn’t count.”

Zayn and Lee didn’t agree. Ed pulled at Harry’s shirt and began wringing it, and warm beer
dripped down onto the table and slid disgustingly down Harry’s stomach. He honestly felt like
convulsing at the feeling of it. That, and the constant nausea he’d felt over the past week, was
verging on too much. He arched a brow at his wrinkled and wet shirt. He slowly and deliberately
twisted it up and pressed the fabric into its own neckline.

“Well, then I suppose this one counts, too,” he asserted, and subsequently launched the ping-pong
ball at the last cup standing on the other side. It hit straight on, and the cup fell over, flushing beer
down on Zayn and Lee’s shoes. Ed jumped up and down dramatically, calling out victoriously at
the impressive shot. Harry grinned at his friend on the other side of the table.

Zayn squinted at him, shaking his head. “Nice bikini.”

“Thank you.”

Zayn grinned with warmth, clearly happy to see him smiling.

They continued bickering and drinking, Lee and Harry helping each other clean up the mess of
beer on the floor. The first hour of the party went swimmingly; Harry was drunk enough not to run
out of Jasmine’s house screaming. He also hadn’t cried, thinking about Louis. Thankfully, he
hadn’t run into either of them.

That sense of peace shattered the following moment.

“Louis!” someone yelled.

Harry felt like chills were running down his naked back. He stiffened. He couldn’t refrain. He
turned around slowly, and his eyes promptly searched for the person he hadn’t wanted to see. It
took only a moment, and then his gaze found him.
He was sitting on the sofa, evidently drunk. Harry didn’t think he’d seen Louis that inebriated
before. His hair was askew, his eyes glassy, lids blinking over them incoherently as he met Harry’s
eyes. For the first time, they didn’t look quite so blue.

Harry swiftly turned back around. He couldn’t keep looking at him, not knowing what he was
thinking. It only made him feel pain. Louis used to look at him with kindness, smirks, desire — all
good things. There had been none of it since Sunday. He hadn’t fucking looked at him all week.

So, why had he just stared back at him like that? Harry didn’t get it. Did Louis want to talk? Or
was he just too fucked up to know what he was doing?

He tried his best not to turn around and stare himself dead at Louis. The challenge was too
demanding. It seemed all his body was capable of wanting at that moment was to look at him. It
insisted upon it. If their eyes could meet again, they could walk out of there together. Maybe they
could go into the bathroom, sit down in the tub, and sort this screwed-up mess out.

Perhaps all Harry needed to do was walk over and grab Louis by the hand, and they could fix it.

Harry needed them to fix it. Fuck. They had to. Everything hurt without him. Everything. Waking
up, eating breakfast, falling asleep, brushing his teeth, putting on clothes, sitting in the car,
listening to music, driving his foot into the leathered side of a fucking football. Every fucking little
thing made him think of Louis Fucking Tomlinson, and it hurt. Everything hurt all the fucking
time.

Zayn and Liam said Louis was in love with him.

And God knew Harry needed it to be true. He didn’t believe in God, but if there was one, they
knew it. And if they could talk, they’d remind him that Louis was on his side. Because he’d said it.
On his bed, after Harry had told him how much his family hurt him. Louis was in his corner,
thought he deserved good things, and told him he was brave.

Harry turned around, neglecting his friends’ conversation.

Fuck all this. They could do it. They could walk out of there, hand in hand.

His eyes went to the couch where Louis was sitting, and just like he’d wanted, their eyes instantly
met once again. But the second Harry was about to step forward, he saw who was sitting by Louis’
side. Who had their fingers in his hair, who was placing a lipstick-covered kiss on his cheek, right
next to his mouth.

Louis’ mouth. His lips. His beautiful, gorgeous, charming, and mischievous lips. Harry’s Louis.
Harry’s mouth.

Jasmine? Jasmine.

Louis was letting Jasmine kiss his cheek. He let her cram into his space, keep her polished nails in
his soft, caramel hair, and place her glossed lips into the crevice right next to his lip. And he did it,
right in front of Harry. While his eyes were staring right at his face.

Forget it. What he said about everything all the time. This was worse.

If Louis wanted to convey a message, it was done. How much rejection wasn’t that? How much
was he showing Harry just how categorically over their relationship was?

Infinite. It was an infinite amount, and it was showcased in the most gruesome, unequivocal way.
Someone else. A woman. Jasmine. Louis couldn’t have done better if he’d tried.

Harry spun back around. His stomach spasmed.

Zayn’s eyes caught on his face, and concern carved into his forehead. “Mate?”

Harry brushed past him. He made it down the stairs in three steps, practically falling out the front
door of the house. Everything hurt all the time, but… this.

He ended up on the lawn, dry-heaving in the lamplight. His fists were pale against the knees of his
jeans, grasping for something to hold.

“Harry.”

He didn’t look up at the sound of Zayn’s voice. He tried to calm down, inhaling and exhaling, but
all it did was make his stomach turn. He was going to be sick.

“Harry.”

He pushed his friend’s hand off his shoulder, vigorously twisting around. His body seemed to turn
inside-out, all of his emotions pouring out.

“You said —” he gasped, aiming his finger along with all of his anger at him. “You said he loved
me back!”

“H…”

“This is your fault!” he cried. “You should have stopped this! You should have told me to stop it!
You should’ve said — I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him! I wouldn’t! It’s your fault!” He
breathed wretchedly. “It was a mistake. You knew it, and you should’ve convinced me! It was a
mistake, it was a mistake, it was fucking mistake!”

Zayn didn’t say anything back, but his face was torn with sadness and distress.

His hands pushed against Zayn’s shoulders. “Your fault! You and fucking… fucking Liam!” Zayn
stumbled backward, but didn’t retaliate. Harry turned back to the dark street running past the
house. His hands gripped his hair, and he felt despair slither down his spine, seizing a steadfast
hold. “It’s my fault,” he said into the cold air, voice lowering. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done
it. I shouldn’t have let him make me feel so —”

He stopped talking. He sat down on the grass, leaning back on his hands, legs stretched out before
him. The ground was cool under his palms and jeans, but he felt breathless, like he’d just run a
marathon. Zayn slowly walked over and sat down by his side. He stared at the grass just like
Harry.

“I’m really sorry.” His shoulders slouched.

Harry felt the grass through his fingers. It was one of the best feelings in the world, but tonight it
did nothing for him.

“I thought that… Well, I thought you’d work it out.”

“He doesn’t love me.” Harry shook his head. “I made it all up. In my head.”

Louis didn’t love him. Louis hadn’t kissed him on the pitch because he loved him. Hadn’t touched
him and kissed him for months on end because he loved him. Because at that moment, he was
upstairs, letting someone else kiss him.

Someone who wasn’t Harry.

Maybe it was the same shit for Louis. It didn’t matter who was in his bed at night, as long as there
was someone.

Harry felt his face scrunch up, and his shoulders begin to shake as his eyes filled up with tears.
“Why would he do that to me?” he hitched. “He must know I love him, why would he do that to
me?”

Zayn’s arm wrapped around him. He didn’t reply. He didn’t have anything to say to console him,
because he had no idea why he would be so cruel. Harry had spent months sleeping in his bed, and
he had no clue how Louis could hurt him like that. It wasn’t the person Harry had gotten to know.
It wasn’t the golden boy with the blue eyes.

Zayn held him, letting his shoulders shake against his side until the quivers faded and were
replaced with cold shivers.

“I’ll get our coats,” he hummed. He squeezed Harry’s body and got up. Harry stayed put, trying not
to vomit on the lawn.

When Zayn returned, he placed Harry’s coat atop his shoulders. Harry glanced up at him, finding
his friend’s face harder than it had been before he left.

“Let’s go, H,” he ordered.

Harry squinted, but drunkenly got to his feet. He threaded his arms through the jacket sleeves and
closed it over his beer-soaked belly.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here. Some people are just fucking cunts, aren’t they?”

Harry wasn’t sure what happened to Zayn in the house, but he sure as hell agreed to that statement.
“Fuck him.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

Harry spun around and screamed, loud and tortured, at the house. “Fuck you!”

Before he knew it, Zayn was yelling the same, fury burning in every syllable. “Fuck you! And fuck
Jasmine fuckin’ Parks, too! Biggest cunt Donny’s ever seen! Bitch!”

Harry watched him, a laugh escaping his lips despite himself. Zayn belted out a couple of sentences
more, which all involved various renditions of the c-word, and then wrapped his arm around
Harry’s waist and tugged him out on the pavement.

“Let’s go somewhere those cunts couldn’t reach us with a freaking stick.”

That weekend was probably the most difficult Harry had been through since Jasmine told him
she’d out him to the whole school, a couple of days after that hellish afternoon they’d almost had
sex. Just like then, his mind replayed images in slow motion.

He couldn’t for the life of him comprehend it yet. In the span of a week, he’d gotten from having
sex with Louis on a bathroom rug, on the brink of telling him how he felt, to watching Louis about
to hook up with the person who’d hurt him the deepest. He supposed it was something the two of
them could bond over now. How much they enjoyed hurting him.

He stared at his own pillowcase for hours. He kicked a football into the brick wall of his house,
attempting to destroy the façade with the force of a ball. Not thinking of it was impossible. He
couldn’t even try to keep it out of his head.

He hated Louis. And he hated Jasmine.

Someone knocked on his door on Sunday night.

“Harry!” called his mum from the door. “Darling, your friend Liam’s here.”

He sat up from the spot in the armchair in the living room that had been his all day. Making his
way to the door, he felt his chest curl inward with unvented anger.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he said once his mother had gone. Liam was standing below
the porch, his car parked against the curb. He was in a long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, white
sneakers bright against the grey stone path. His face fell at Harry’s reaction.

“You all right?” He gauged his appearance carefully. “You don’t look… great.”

“What do you care?”

Liam’s kind, brown eyes turned just a tad harder. “I wanted to see if you were okay, since Zayn
said you didn’t have a good time on Friday.”

Harry scoffed. “Why don’t you run back to Louis. I’m sure he has loads of details to share.”

He frowned, confused. “I’m not sure I know what you’re on about.”

“Oh, fuck off, Liam.”

He opened his mouth, affronted and offended as he stared up at Harry. “Jesus, what the fuck is up
with you?”

He stared at him, incredulous. “I thought you were my friend, but I suppose you prefer to be
hogging Louis’ side, innit?”

Liam shook his head. “You’re crazy. It’s possible to be friends with more than one of you.”

“Sure, just like it’s possible to tell me you think Louis loves me, and then not give a fuck whether
it’s true or not.”

Liam didn’t immediately respond. Harry crossed his arms, fingers digging into his ribs. He hadn’t
showered since Friday, and his feelings from that night lingered all over him. He couldn’t believe
that Liam had talked him up all these weeks when Louis clearly didn’t give a fuck.

“All you’ve done is lie to my face.”

“Fuck, Harry, I haven’t lied to you. I’ve genuinely told you what I think is true. Everything I’ve
said is what has happened. Things that Louis has said. I’ve not made up a single fucking thing. I’ve
never tried to set you up.”

Harry swallowed. “Well, you’ve done it anyway, because he’s definitely not in love with me.”
Liam shook his head. His arms were folded over his chest now, his biceps bulging under his shirt.
“I don’t believe that, but I’ve got no clue as to why you would think that’s true.”

“So, he didn’t tell you all about how he kissed me in public and then refused to look at me all
week? He didn’t tell you every detail of how he looked me in the eye as he started snogging
Jasmine?”

“Mate, I know nothing about that kiss you’re on about, but Louis certainly did not snog Jasmine at
her party. He was fucking out of it, and we were celebrating the win. He only went to the bedroom
to sleep. She was helping us find it.”

Harry’s jaw tightened painfully. “Her room?”

“To sleep!”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Because…” He swallowed, for the first time looking a bit uncertain. “Because I helped him get
there.”

“You helped him go into her room?”

“Yes, but only because he was so out of it! He needed to sleep. She helped us find it, and then I
left.”

“She stayed after you went?” His voice was getting louder. Panicked. “So, how do you know what
happened?”

“Harry, you’re blaming me for things that are downright unreasonable.”

“Is it? Unreasonable? All I know is that you talked me into believing Louis loves me, and then
walked him into Jas’ bedroom and left them there together!”

Liam looked at him silently. It took a minute before he continued. “You’re not nice right now,
Harry. You’re blaming me for problems I’ve got no part in. I’m sorry if Louis isn’t in love with
you, but I sure as hell thought he cared for you. I’ve only ever rooted for you.”

Harry’s arms remained crossed as he processed Liam’s words. He heard them, but his own feelings
didn’t dissipate. They clouded everything. “I’m really angry with you,” he said after a moment of
silence.

“I think I should go.”

“Me, too.”

Liam sighed and turned away. Harry watched him walk down towards his car. When he reached
the pavement, he stopped, looking back at the porch. “For the record, Harry, I don’t see a reality
where he would ever hurt you on purpose. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Bye, Liam.”

He watched his car drive off down the street, a scowl set on his face. He stomped into the house
and found his mother sitting on the sofa.

“Oh, my love. Are you okay?” she asked upon seeing his torn-up figure.
“Leave me alone,” he growled, and hurried upstairs, knowing none of this was Liam’s fault at all.

On Monday, Coach Abrahams approached him at practice. After a second glance at Harry’s sleep-
deprived face, he told him he hadn’t received any news from Manchester.

“Fine,” he said. “Then I’ll go to Chelsea. After the championship match, you can tell them yes. If
they want me, still.”

“Of course, they still want you, boy.”

“All right, then.”

It felt horrible. He didn’t know what to feel towards Chelsea anymore, specifically, but everything
was horrible.

That week started off worse than the previous, because the week before, Harry still had some kind
of hope. This week, he was heartbroken. He ignored Louis at practice with a vengeance. He didn’t
talk to Liam, and Liam didn’t say anything back. Harry was kind of sorry about his behaviour, but
he wasn’t ready to embrace that sentiment and apologise yet. Anger lingered, but it mingled with
sorrow.

After school on Tuesday — another excruciating day — he stood in his bathroom, in front of the
mirror. He stared at his naked chest. Louis’ last love bites had faded, and his skin looked clean and
untouched. It had been over a week since Louis last kissed him, and it felt like years. He was so
used to his presence that he felt empty each morning he woke up.

As he stood there, staring at himself, hating the lack of signs he was Louis’, his mind wandered.
He looked more muscular than he had six months ago, and it had to be down to all the footie
training and Louis’ five-day protein, two-day pizza cycle. In just a few months, he’d have a
nutritionist and personal trainers making sure he was fit enough to be a professional athlete.

The thought that in a few months he’d be in a whole other town, playing for a whole different club,
made his legs shake. He sank down on the rug that wasn’t purple, and fell back against the side of
the bathtub. His hands ran into his hair, squeezing around his curls in painful twists.

He’d be gone. Away from Donny. For years, it was all he had ever wanted, and there he suddenly
sat, despising the very idea of it.

Why? he asked himself, begging to understand what he already knew. He shouldn’t have hated it!
He should’ve been allowing that other feeling to flourish, the one that said his relationship with
Louis was over anyway, and he might as well stay the fuck away.

So, why? Why?

It meant leaving him.

On Tuesday, he spotted Louis outside of school. Harry was heading to the Rover to grab his
washed training kit when he saw him walking out of the main building. Niall Horan was next to
him, easy to recognise by his blond hair and loud laugh. They were talking and smiling. Harry
detested admitting it, but the sight of Louis smiling made him feel for him. Louis had been
miserable for so long, missing his best friend, and it appeared he’d gotten him back somehow.
He slammed the door to his Rover shut. Fuck that feeling. He was supposed to be angry, because
he still was. He was furious that Louis had let Jasmine touch him, and he was pissed that he’d done
it in front of him. He wanted to shout at him, bang his fists against his chest, and tell him how
ruthlessly brutal it had felt.

The image of them made him sick.

But… deep down he also wanted Louis to apologise. To say he was sorry, hold him, promise that
he loved him and that none of it had been what it seemed.

Everything hurt all the fucking time.

It wasn’t until the day after that he accepted defeat, and decided to apologise to Liam. He’d seen
Louis and Niall again, smiling and chatting, and it affected him enough to think of apologising.
Moreover, Zayn had spent days trying to convince him that Liam was only innocently caught in the
middle of trying to be a good friend to two people standing on either end of a problem.

Harry drove from Zayn’s house directly to Liam’s. He rang the doorbell and almost walked away,
but forced himself to stay put. Eventually, the door swung open and Liam walked out on the porch.
The roles were reversed.

Harry looked up at him, frowning. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

He inhaled. He didn’t know what to do with his emotions lately. They seemed to go back and forth
at the speed of the wind.

“I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you.” His whole body was full of tension.

Liam nodded. “I’m sorry for saying things I shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah?”

“Well…” he said. “Louis never explicitly told me he’s in love with you, but… I know he is.”

Harry stared at him. “How can he be in love with me if he let Jasmine kiss him right in front of
me?”

Liam grimaced. “You’ve got to ask him about that one… but I personally don’t think he realised
how hurtful it was to you. He was drunk, she kissed him on the cheek because Stan was forcing it,
and… I really don’t think he was paying enough attention to realise how the actions of that night
might have come across.”

Harry stood there silently for a moment, shoulders drawn upwards under his navy jumper. He’d
pulled the hood up, and curls poked out under his chin. He swallowed. It had been five days since
the party, and though Louis’ actions still hurt, he felt the honesty in Liam’s words. It confused him.

“Do you… Honestly,” he said slowly. “Do you really think he’s in love with me?”

“Yes. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Then why haven’t you told him how I feel?”

He shook his head, wholly disapproving of the idea. “That’s not my place. I’m talking to you
because you want to talk about it. He doesn’t, so I don’t.” He sighed. “I don’t know much at all
about your actual relationship, really. I just feel that you love each other. I see it. But I don’t want
to be in the middle of it. I’m just trying to be supportive, to both of you.”

Harry nodded. He shuffled where he stood, feeling awkward all of a sudden. “I love him,” he
declared. “I love him, but these two weeks have done my head in. I feel fucking confused. He
kissed me on the pitch, and then he didn’t look at me for a week. He hurt me. I don’t understand.”

Liam hesitated. “I really don’t know about that one, mate.”

Harry expired a hot breath, feeling agitation tickling his throat. “You really don’t know anything,
do you?”

He chuckled. “I guess not.” He frowned then, staring down at Harry from the porch edge. He wore
slippers, Harry noticed for the first time. There was fluff poking out at his ankles. “If you really do
love him, I think you should tell him. Don’t go about miserably ignoring him, or… ignoring the
problem. Because what is the issue, really? The kiss, or what it meant, or what? He kissed you on
the footie pitch?”

“In front of everyone.”

“Huh. Maybe he just got cold feet?”

“I don’t know, Liam.” Harry shook his head, and slowly began to trek backward. “Sorry, though. I
mean it.”

“It’s all right. I hope all of it works out.”

“Sure.”

He got into his car and drove home. On his bed, he considered it: Either Louis regretted the kiss so
much he wanted to forget their whole relationship, or he was in love with him and… And he’d still
chosen to let Jasmine kiss him.

How was that any fucking better?

Thursday evening after practice, he walked into his house, feeling like a shell of himself. Another
unbearable day where everything was hell.

He wanted to go to bed. Disappear.

However, his stomach was aching after a long day of school and training, so he strode into the
kitchen and began making a protein shake. Just as he’d closed the lid on the bottle, he looked up to
find his parents standing in the doorway. They were quiet, holding hands, looking exceptionally
composed.

“Hello, darling,” said his mother. She wore gentle makeup, a faint, pink eyeshadow matching her
lips. “Would you mind sitting down with us at the dinner table?”

“… Okay.”

He took a sip from the shake and followed them to the table. He sat down at the head of it, his
parents taking the seats on either side of him. He looked on as they collected themselves for a
minute, watched them interlock their hands across the table in front of him. His father cleared his
throat and his mother dragged her lips into a serious line.
Harry pulled his knees up to his chest, his dirty footie socks pressing against the edge of the chair.
“What is it?”

“Honey,” she said softly. Her green eyes were set on him, and they didn’t trail away as long as she
faced him. “There is no easy way to say this, but we have decided that your father and I are no
longer going to… be with each other.”

His mouth fell open.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but we’ve had two rather rocky years, and we’ve realised that we’re
no longer very happy.”

His father nodded. “It might be difficult for you to hear, but we thought since you’re going off to
the academy next year, it won’t be too hard on you that we’re not going to live together anymore.”

Harry swallowed, and his hand began moving the shaker in his hand. His mum glanced at the
movement, and a wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. She lifted a hand and squeezed his arm.

“I’m really sorry, darling, but… we think that we will be happier separately. We still love each
other, of course, but we’ve decided to put our own happiness first now.”

Harry couldn’t look back at her anymore. He stared at the table. Realistically, he knew that it
wasn’t his fault that they were separating. Christ, Louis had told him they’d been considering a
divorce since September. Despite that, he couldn’t help wondering if it was him that had pushed
them over the edge.

“Is it because I’m gay?” he whispered.

“Oh, no!” his mum gasped. “Harry, no, of course not. I… I love you, just the way you are. I know
I’ve been… I’ve been. But this has nothing to do with that. It’s just… We love each other as
people, but we’re not in love anymore.”

His father’s hand landed on his shoulder. “We’ve been thinking about this for a while, Harry. Your
mother, she’s going to Cheshire in a few weeks, and I’ll stay here in the meantime, and then…
we’ll see about the house.”

He looked up again in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”

“I am. I’m moving there, for the summer at least. I would love for you to come to stay with me, but
with just the summer between you and the academy, I think you’d prefer to stay in Donny with
your friends?”

She wasn’t wrong, but Harry still couldn’t believe that she was going. That this was actually
happening. They were actually getting divorced! How many times had he wished for this exact
thing? How many times had he thought life would be so much better if they’d just let go? Now that
it was finally happening, he felt his stomach sink.

“Is that okay, my love?” she asked with concern that Harry knew was real.

He inhaled deeply, and his hand stopped jostling the shaker. “Okay.”

“We love you, Harry. We do. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s just time for us to go separate
ways.”

“Okay.”
He nodded. Hadn’t he seen it coming? Hadn’t he wanted this? Now, he didn’t know what to think.
He was nineteen years old, but all of a sudden, he only wanted to curl up between his parents on the
sofa under a big blanket and watch cartoons, like he’d done when he was six. When they had been
happy, and things were easy.

His parents weren’t happy, though. And didn’t they deserve to be? All human beings deserved to
be happy, didn’t they? Harry didn’t want to stand in the way of it. He had probably stood in the
way of their divorce for months already.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’m fine. Everything will be fine.”

His father squeezed his shoulder, his mother’s hand still resting on his arm. “It’s not because
you’re gay, Harry. It isn’t.”

He nodded. “Cool,” he said. He stood up and nodded again. Then he turned around and walked
upstairs. Cool.

He didn’t cry. His parents’ future swivelled in his mind, and yes, he wondered where he and
Gemma fit into it, but… perhaps he already knew that they were just four separate entities that
didn’t belong very much together.

Instead, he spent all night thinking about Louis. About how his parents’ relationship had crumbled
after the divorce and how their lives were so disconnected from each other’s that Louis didn’t even
talk to his father anymore. How ugly it had all become.

Louis. His Louis.

Harry had wanted to be in his corner. He’d wanted to have his back. Still did.

However, there were evil thoughts sneaking around the corners. Thoughts about Jasmine. About
Greg. Jealous thoughts that wondered whether there was actual substance there. It was difficult to
bat them off, even though they fought a war with Liam, who had been the most wonderful friend
Harry had never expected. Liam, whom Harry had finally accepted was telling him the truth.

Joining his side in battle were all the memories of Louis that Harry had garnered over the past
months. Memories he’d collected sleeping next to Louis, feeling every bit and piece of him
untangle one by one, allowing Harry in, fraction by fraction. There was kindness in Louis. He was
a good person. Harry knew that, and…

Even though it hurt. Even though it was hard. If Harry was truthful, honest, and unleashed that box
with duct tape in the back of his head… If he could have Louis back, and he could be Louis’ again,
then he could put what happened with Jasmine aside.

Fucking hell, it hurt like a drilling machine carving into his bones, but if he could have Louis as
his, all of him without secrecy and hidden feelings, then yes, he would take him back in an instant.

Fuck, of course, he would.

The only problem was that Harry was most probably going to leave for London that summer. And
that thought scared him just as much as it did before.

On Friday morning, he wondered if it was worth it.

If he walked over to Louis, told him how much he loved him, and Louis echoed his feelings, what
did Chelsea mean for the future of their relationship? Would Louis be willing to love him from
afar? If Louis stayed in Donny, would he agree to be his from a distance, while Harry made his
way into a profession embellished by homophobia and travel?

There was a broken piece inside him that said no. And together with an evil, selfish side in him,
that piece conspired to leave Donny without ever proclaiming his love for Louis. To drop it all
from here, and move on. He despised the thought process. It was his self-preservation feebly
attempting to shut his feelings out. On a level, those pieces were right. What did it matter if Louis
loved him back, if they weren’t even going to see each other in a few months?

Harry was an emotional person. The past year had shown as much. He followed his heart. So,
yeah, logically there was no point in tearing himself apart by pulling through the rough of this, but
that just wasn’t the kind of person he was.

So… it was. It was worth it.

At that moment, more than Chelsea, he wanted Louis. He wanted him anyway. Despite all the
fucked-up things and the pain. What if there was a chance that they could have something, despite
Harry leaving?

What if.

That morning, they had footie practice before school. They didn’t have a match that night, but
Coach was off for the weekend and had decided practice would occur in the morning instead of the
afternoon. Harry walked into the locker room tired and unhappy, and seemingly the first to arrive.
He got dressed and had just slid his feet into his cleats when Coach strode in.

“Morning,” he said, looking oddly happy. Harry nodded at him in greeting, but didn’t offer
anything else. “Can you be in my office in five minutes?”

He sighed. Coach disappeared, and Harry stood, pulling his red training jacket over his jersey. As
he walked out of the locker rooms and towards the next building where Coach’s office sat, he
squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind awake. There was a glaze over it, foggy and
disturbing.

Everything. All the time.

“How did you know I was early?” he asked as he walked into the office two minutes later.

“I saw your car in the lot. Sit down, please.”

Harry sat in the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Coach cleared his throat, tapped something
on his phone, and subsequently placed it in the middle of the desk, facing up. He was calling
someone on speaker.

“Who’s that?”

He just smiled, and the person on the other side of the line suddenly picked up.

“Cooper.”

“Oi, Coop, it’s Abrahams here.”

“Oh, Abe, fantastic! Do you have him on the line?”

Harry listened, confused as he stared at the black screen showing only digits.

“Yup, just like I promised.”

“Splendid! Hello, Harry! How are you?”

“Uh… fine, thank you. How are you?” he answered, while Coach Abrahams grinned and gestured
with his hand in front of him.

“Great, thanks! The name’s Gary Cooper, but you can call me Coop, of course. I’m head of local
scouting here at United, and we’re really excited that you’re interested in joining us this summer
for pre-season. We’ve got an excellent program for our youth academy, and we’ve been keeping an
eye on you for a bit. We’d be delighted if you’d join us.”

“Oh,” breathed Harry.

Oh.
 Chapter 16

Harry walked out onto the football pitch in disbelief. He’d just spoken to the head of local scouting
for Manchester United. He’d been offered a contract with their youth team. A scholarship. He’d
receive housing, access to full fitness facilities, and all the benefits of the youth team. He was
actually going to Manchester.

“Yes,” he’d exhaled, and Coach and Mr. Cooper had agreed to set up a real meeting. Coach
Abrahams had reminded Harry about his desire to him an actual agent to help him navigate the
signing. It was all over too quickly.

“Back to practice,” Coach had said with a wink, and suddenly Harry was standing on the footie
pitch, confused and scared.

What had he just done? he thought. What the fuck had he just done?!

In the moment of a breath, he had discarded Chelsea for United and not even considered the pros
and cons of it. He hadn’t considered the scholarly salaries, what the future prospects of getting into
the A-team looked like, or even considered which city he’d live in. He’d only thought that
Manchester was closer to Donny than London, and he’d be back here with Louis in two hours
instead of four.

Oh, God.

What the hell had he done? Had he just said yes to United on the basis of his current, non-existent
relationship with Louis? How stupid was he?

Football practice that morning swam by quickly in waves of thoughts, and Harry waded through it,
mind at large. He didn’t know what was going on, but his legs had run the pitch so many times
they might’ve known each drill better than his actual mind. During the last water break, he sat on
the bench, sipping on his bottle, when Louis approached. He wore his red training jersey and black
socks, his brown fringe covering almost half of his face.

Harry, shocked out of his trance, simply looked at him.

“Hello,” said Louis, and suddenly Harry realised what he had not thought of before.

There was no chance that two players could be offered a scholarship from a town like Donny.
Manchester United had their own football academy with kids who’d played for them since under
ten years old, and although they did always scout outside of it, it was extremely unlikely that two
players from the same team ended up at one of the biggest clubs ever. It was statistically
impossible.

So, had Harry, choosing United in order to be with Louis, actually inadvertently screwed any
chance that Louis might have had at getting in at Manchester?

There were things I wanted, and I could already see you standing in the way of it.

Harry couldn’t answer. He just stared, the pain of what he’d done beginning to settle in his gut.

For a long time, coming to a climax these last couple of weeks, he’d thought that if there was a
chance that he and Louis would be together for longer than the summer, it would be if they’d both
end up in Manchester. But how crazy was it to believe that would actually happen?
Instead, Harry had taken it all away from him.

Stupidly, he briefly believed that if he would’ve gone to Chelsea, then Louis might’ve had a chance
to get in. He asked himself for minutes whether he’d fucked up Louis’ chance at becoming a player
for United, and simultaneously wanted to slam his fist into his head. What had he done?

No, another part of him resisted. Harry had been offered United because he was good enough. He
was offered to play there because United wanted him. There was no list of applicants. It didn’t
work that way in football. They didn’t even play the same position!

Moreover, would Louis have declined United for the sake of Harry’s happiness?

No, he decided. Louis would definitely not. Not because he didn’t care, but because he had a right
to follow his dreams. So, why should Harry feel guilty? He shouldn’t, but because he loved him, he
did.

Because he was in love with him. No matter what Louis had done during these last couple of
weeks, Harry was still in love with him, and those feelings didn’t simply go up in flames. He was
in love with him, and there was a chance he’d either fucked up Louis’ life, or just made sure they’d
have the next couple of years together. There was no in between.

In the span of his thoughts, Harry ended up simply staring at Louis, his body a blot of lead. And
when he didn’t answer, Louis walked away. He twisted his face to the side and stalked off,
meanwhile, Harry sat there thinking that any second, he was going to disintegrate from feeling so
unnaturally vanquished.

There were things I wanted, and I could already see you standing in the way of it.

He wondered if a human was supposed to have so many emotions about one particular thing. It
didn’t feel good. It felt like he could die from it.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted to say to Louis anymore. All he knew was that he was sorry.

He didn’t know how to progress throughout the day without thinking about it, letting it cloak and
hold him down. Because even if Louis did actually love him, even after these couple of weeks of
hell, he would most definitely hate him once he found out about Manchester.

Harry was so drained from the last couple of days that he couldn’t even bring himself to protest
when his parents suggested the three of them go out for pizza again. While his mother had
apparently moved into the guest room, his parents were yet determined not to break the family
apart until Harry finished school. He personally didn’t see the point of it, but wasn’t emotionally
prepared to question any of it yet. All of that had to wait.

He was dragged to the pizza parlour by his parents, and as he walked into the building, he felt
exhausted. His chest had burned all day with guilt. The guilt might have been illogical, but it still
sat there, uninterruptedly causing friction. He detested the feeling. He was used to anxiety, but it
never ceased to affect him.

His father grabbed a table by the window, meanwhile, Harry got in line with his mother to order at
the counter. He was starting to feel nauseous.

“I’ll be right back,” he told her. He ventured over to the bathroom, wanting to douse his face with
cold water at the sinks. He needed a minute to himself before his head exploded.

He pushed the door open, took one step inside, and stopped cold.
Louis.

He was standing in the middle of the room. His back was towards the door, but his hands were in
his face, covering it. He looked distressed, even though Harry only just walked in. His back was
tense.

“Oh,” Harry breathed.

They were all alone, and couldn’t avoid each other now. Harry wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for
this.

At the sound of his exhale, Louis spun around. His eyes remained on Harry for a second, before
they dropped to the ground. “Hello,” he said, voice low. His feet shuffled awkwardly where he
stood.

“Hello,” Harry retorted, voice strangled with uncertainty. Louis kept his eyes on his feet, but there
was nothing about him, now that they were standing there all alone, that appeared like
indifference.

This moment was not difficult just for Harry, but also for Louis, he realised. Did he love him?
What had he wanted to say today at practice? That he was sorry, too? Or that they needed to hone
in on mid-pressure training before the Championship final?

That look, the downcast eyes, right after Louis had kissed him on the footie pitch… Louis’
disappearance after the victory. He still didn’t understand. Harry didn’t know anything anymore.

“I’ve seen you’re friends with Niall again,” he finally got out. “He knows?”

“Yep.” His lips were pursed, the words said with a nod. He still wasn’t looking up.

“Good.” Good for him, he thought. It would make him happier.

Louis didn’t respond. Harry stood there, heart in his throat. What was Louis thinking so quietly
about? How to reject him? Or… how to say he loved him? Liam’s words swirled, but standing in
front of Louis it was even harder to believe them.

After a minute, he still didn’t know what to say. Awkwardly, he moved to the sink and washed his
hands — a reason not to leave — meticulously scrubbing as he searched for words.

“What’s your problem?”

Harry stilled, his throat going dry as sandpaper. His problem? He stood straight, dried his hands on
his hoodie, and stuffed them into the pocket.

“What happened? I don’t understand what happened,” said Louis.

Harry didn’t know what to answer. He was wondering the same thing. What the fuck had
happened?

“Harry,” Louis said. Harry had missed hearing him say his name. It felt good listening to it roll off
his tongue. It belonged there. “Harry.”

A pause. Harry’s bones ached for him. To be where he belonged. In Louis’ arms.

“Harry, for fuck’s sake —”

His arms moved on their own. They stretched out before him and wound around Louis’ neck. His
hands brought their faces close. It only took a breath to push their mouths into a kiss.

“Mmpf.” The noise came from Louis, but he clasped breathlessly against Harry’s shirt, tugging at
his hoodie to bring him closer. Harry only wanted to be there. It almost hurt feeling Louis’ lips
collide with his, like freezing toes dipping into scalding water. Painful, but good.

He needed him. Loved him. Everything hurt, but kissing him, it was all okay.

Louis kissed him back, and the feeling of his urgent mouth against his erased the ghosts lurking
within. Louis did feel something for him. How many times hadn’t he kissed Harry? How many
times hadn’t he held him tight? Held his hand? Brushed his hands through his curls and proclaimed
how much he was in his corner?

Louis’ hands pressed against the small of Harry’s back, pushing him closer, their bodies flush and
full of yearning. Harry could feel every one of Louis’ breaths against himself. Even as he’d hated
him, it was all he had wanted for weeks.

Louis reached back to breathe in through his mouth, and Harry whined, hating the feeling of his
mouth disappearing.

“I can’t,” he exhaled, “stay away from you.” He needed him. They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t
be apart. It didn’t work.

He shook his head vigorously, and drew Louis in by the neck. His mouth was so warm, so
delicious, and his body melted like butter against Harry’s.

He wanted to tell him all of it. That he couldn’t be away from him anymore. That it hurt too much,
no matter what had happened before. He’d take him back. Now. Right now.

Louis suddenly moved back, breaking away from Harry’s lips. Harry followed his movements,
ready to dive in again, but Louis pressed a fist to his chest, keeping them apart.

Why? Harry’s whole body implored. Why would he deprive them of this?

“What do you mean?” Louis stared at him, lips pink, but brows knitted, confused and frowning.

“I —”

His voice was harder. “You’ve been purposely keeping away from me. Why?”

Harry moved back an inch, his heart beginning to beat faster. “I didn’t mean —”

“Yeah, you did.” He looked angry suddenly, face contorting into something pained. “I don’t get
this.” His eyebrows bent upwards, eyes pointedly staring at how their bodies entwined between
them. “I don’t understand what happened between the footie match and right now.”

Harry stared back at Louis’ confused, blue, gorgeous eyes.

He didn’t know.

Louis seriously didn’t how horrendous these last couple of weeks had been for Harry. He
obviously had no fucking idea how much it had hurt watching Jasmine kiss his face, and have to
hear about her being alone in a bedroom with him.

He almost said all of it, right then. He almost yelled at him, screaming out his anger and hurt.
Given his record, he would have done it. He’d demand of him to explain. All of this. Why had
Louis done that to him? Why? He was a fucking wanker-dickhead-idiot-arsehole, and Harry loved
him.

But the door swung open. And of all people, Harry’s father walked in, ever unbeknownst to what
was going on around him. Louis took two paces away, letting Harry go.

“Oh, Louis! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Harry’s eyes stuck to the floor. He heard Louis reply a lame “Hey” and watched in discomfort from
the corner of his eye how his father shook Louis’ hand with inappropriate enthusiasm.

“Glad to see you, and nice to see you both together for once. Harry’s been miserable lately, missing
you. Where have you been?” Harry looked up at his dad, wide-eyed. The man shrugged, smiling.
“What? I notice stuff.”

Harry exhaled a breath of disbelief, but his father squeezed his shoulder, still grinning.

“I’ve got to go.” Louis, without a look at Harry, swiftly exited the bathroom, and Harry watched
him go with gravel climbing into his throat.

“What was that about?” asked his dad, looking at him for answers that he didn’t have. He shrugged
and crossed his arms. “Are you okay, Harry?”

He nodded, but his throat felt tight and his eyes were beginning to itch. He wiped at them, first
gently, but when they didn’t listen and only kept producing hot, wet tears, his movements became
hasty and furious. Stop it.

The hand tightened on his shoulder, and then, all of a sudden, he was getting hugged by his father,
shedding tear after tear on his grey Ralph Lauren-clad shoulder. His dad didn’t say a word, but he
hugged him firmly and warmly like fathers were supposed to.

When they walked out of the bathroom, they were quiet. Harry was certain they would never
mention it as long as they lived. His mum only looked at them in confusion before they were
served steaming, stone oven-cooked pizza. It took twenty minutes to push half of it down, before
Harry gave up and his mum suggested they get it to go.

“You coming in with us, Harry?” she asked when they were standing outside the house, back home
again. They’d just gotten out of her silver Mercedes, and Harry was dragging his steps. He watched
the two of them, his parents. So much had happened in such a short space of time, and it was
difficult to comprehend what they had told him the night before. They looked the same, he
realised, but different all the same.

“No, I’m going to Liam’s, I think.” Zayn had tried to convince him to join them at his house that
evening. Some people were headed over, and Harry apparently needed to be social again. For the
last week, he’d stayed at home, face glued to his pillows. The only reason he actually wanted to go
was that he needed his friends in order not to fall apart.

His mother walked over slowly. She wore a light spring jacket with white jeans and keds. She
raised her arms and let them tie around him. He hadn’t felt her body against his in months, and he
instantly understood that he hadn’t known how much he’d missed the feeling. He wondered briefly
how come his mum had waited until now to do such a gesture, on the same day as his father had
done the same.

Was there something about him tonight that screamed that he needed to be hugged? It took him a
minute to realise that maybe they both simply felt guilty for getting divorced.

She let him go after a moment or so. Her soft scent lingered. Harry took a step back.

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight, sweetie.”

“Bye.”

He turned and walked over to where his car stood parked in the driveway next to the garage. The
rims on the tires were unusually dirty from the spring dust, and they needed to be cleaned. He
hadn’t had it washed in ages. Not since the week before he nearly rammed into Louis in the lot,
stealing his parking space.

Fuck.

He missed him. He needed him.

He drove over to Sainsbury’s, the big one not too far from the school. Buying a six-pack of beer, he
ended up in a long queue. He stood there, eyes flashing out over the pharmaceuticals. He’d been in
the same spot more than six months ago, then buying lube and condoms, unbeknownst to the fact
that he’d be using them that very same day. Jesus. If he’d only known how crazy the next few
months of his life would get because of it. He had no clue if it was the best weird decision he’d
ever made, or the worst.

He bought the beer, got into his Rover again, and drove the ten minutes to Liam’s house in
complete silence. Even if the radio had been on, he wouldn’t have registered the noise. He was
thinking about Louis. About his mouth on his, the feeling of him against himself from just an hour
ago.

One thing was apparent: Louis had no clue what happened that semi-final, either. But he also didn’t
know that Harry had gotten into Manchester and potentially ruined his life.

He didn’t want to tell him. He didn’t want to have to live in a world where Louis hated him forever.

But how could Harry fix all this if Louis didn’t know the truth? How could they have a real
relationship if they weren’t honest with each other? He had to tell him. Louis would find out sooner
or later, and Harry had to be the one to let him know.

It was a problem for the next couple of days, he decided. Tonight, he needed a break. Everything-
all-the-time.

He parked the car and strode into the house. It seemed plenty of the boys had already arrived,
judging by the mess of shoes inside the door. He slid his own off and began to make his way to the
living room. By then, he knew Liam’s house well enough, and it took only a minute until he was
peeking into the living room, finding his mates crowding around the coffee table in the living
room. He saw Zayn in the armchair, and Louis’ friend Niall on the floor.

Harry held up the beer. “Brought some — oh.”

He should have understood. Niall was there, and it was Liam’s place after all. He was friends with
Louis. So, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he found Louis sitting in the middle of all the
people on the sofa, right on Liam’s lap.

At first, the anger drilled a hole into his stomach. He got angry at Louis, but also at Liam. Why
would he let Louis sit in his lap? Why did he have to sit there? Why not get an extra chair? Fuck.
Louis wasn’t supposed to sit on another guy’s lap, he was supposed to be in Harry’s arms. What
the hell.

Louis visibly stiffened at the sight of him, but Harry moved his eyes off of him instantly. However,
the immediate anger seemed to run off him as he processed Louis’ face in his mind. He was pretty
as per usual, but his eyebrows had turned down in concern, posture suddenly awkward.

Harry kept his eyes downcast, getting seated on the other side of the coffee table. There was music
coming from the speakers by the telly, and there were already beer cans and crisps spread between
them. The other lads greeted him in cheers, and he smiled tightly at them. He wanted to go home.

He tried to ignore the way Liam’s arm wrapped around Louis, but inside, it felt like he was falling
to pieces. He willed himself to remember Liam’s words about how Louis loved him. It was too
hard.

Not Liam’s fault, not Liam’s fault, not Liam’s fault. He was overreacting, overreacting,
overreacting.

They were friends. And Louis was tactile with his friends, clearly. And that shit Harry had pulled at
the fro-yo shop was embarrassing. Stupid. Fucking hell, it’d been messed up. And that wasn’t the
kind of person he was! Threaten to hurt someone? No. No, no, no. He couldn’t behave like that. It
was horrible.

He got up, making a brief excuse. He needed to breathe.

In the kitchen, he drank a glass of water, inhaling and exhaling softly. It worked a little, again.
Should he just go home? he debated. Or attempt to power through? Sit on the opposite end of the
table and pretend that being in Louis’ near proximity wasn’t killing him?

No, he concluded. He couldn’t stay.

No matter how close Louis was with friends, or even with Greg, or freaking Jasmine for that matter
— whoever it was, it was too hard to watch it when he didn’t know for sure that he’d be the one in
Louis’ bed that night. And if he couldn’t handle it… The right thing to do was leave.

He was striding back towards the living room, excuse on the tip of his tongue, when Louis’
exclaim abruptly stopped him on the threshold.

“I can’t relax!” His voice was loud over the lads’ chatter. Harry stared at him, seeing how Louis
slapped a hand over his mouth, realising in shock how loudly he’d spoken. “I’m sorry,” he said and
looked up.

Harry found his blue eyes burrowing directly into his. Something flashed in there, but before Harry
could do anything, Louis was detangling himself from Liam and stalking straight out the room, a
beer bottle in hand, shoulder only inches from Harry as he brushed past.

He didn’t know what it was that did it, but if it was anything, it was Louis’ eyes. His deep,
emotional, blue, gorgeous eyes. So unnaturally powerful in the way that they struck him. They had
affected him longer than he cared to admit. Probably since he was fifteen. Right then, looking into
his, Harry fell. And once Louis had disappeared upstairs, he’d landed on concrete. He felt broken,
pieces splattered on stone. How much he missed him was sinking in, and he needed Louis to
reassemble his pieces.

He followed him without a single glance at the people in the room. He didn’t care anymore. He
needed him. Immediately. Unreservedly. He traipsed down the hallway and up the stairs, and
found Liam’s bedroom waiting. Carefully, he pushed the door open.

Louis was lying on the bed. His feet were on the floor, back against the surface of the bedspread, a
pillow covering his face. Harry felt his insides squeeze, the rest of his body quivering with nerves
as he gently sat down next to Louis on the bed. He needed him more than anyone in this world, and
loved him more than anyone in his life.

He was sick at the fact that he needed to do it eventually. Hurt him.

His fingers touched Louis’ closest knee. Louis’ arms squeezed the pillow over his face harder.
Harry’s lips pulled down, emotions tugging at them with strings. His palm flattened over Louis’
knee, wanting to soothe, even though he didn’t know what ailed him.

Louis pushed the pillow off his face, abruptly sitting up. His body aligned with Harry’s, their
shoulders an inch apart. His voice was slow, confused. “What are you doing?”

He should’ve been telling Louis about Manchester. Every word between them until he did was a
horrible lie. Deception. Betrayal.

One more time, his heart bargained. Couldn’t they kiss one more time? The moment in the pizza
parlour had made him understand the depth of his famine, and he needed it so badly it would kill
him if he couldn’t feel it again. If they could just love each other one more time, then he could
break it later. He would tell him about Manchester, but he could he get to feel this one more time?
Please?

“Want you,” he whispered, feeling his shoulders sag at the confession. They hadn’t spoken in
weeks until that afternoon, and even though Louis confused him, he wanted him. He loved him.

Louis didn’t touch him. “Harry, what’s going on?”

He turned his chin towards Louis, eyes trailing down to his mouth. “I want you,” he repeated.
Usually, such a phrase would mean they were naked within the minute, but that had changed it
seemed.

His hands cupped Louis’ face, and he held him there to place a broken kiss to his mouth. Louis
loved him. Right?

Louis’ lips parted slightly, and Harry inhaled through his nose, relief streaming through him. He
kissed him harder, with urgency. Harry loved him, and Louis loved him back, right?

They could fix all this. Fuck Jasmine. Fuck Greg. Louis loved him.

Right?

Louis broke away, his hands grabbing Harry’s upper arms and holding him firmly at a distance.
“What are you doing?” he asked sharply, and his eyes were hard. Harry’s chest contracted, and he
couldn’t hold in the anxiety that had been stabbing him since that morning.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasped. He closed his eyes, pressing tears from the corners. “I’m so sorry.”

Louis looked terribly unsettled. His eyes flickered over Harry’s face. “What do you mean?”

No. He hated that uncertainty in Louis’ eyes. No, no, no, no. He couldn’t go on — Louis would
hate him forever.
“I can’t tell you. I don’t want to hurt you,” he cried, voice a mere whimper.

He shook his head a fraction, but Harry could already see the corners of his mouth turning down.
“You hurt me more by not telling me the truth.”

Harry inhaled, and suddenly his whole torso was convulsing. He refused to be the one to hurt
Louis. No.

“Fuck, Harry. Just fucking say it.”

The tears fell down his cheeks, warm and cool all at once. He felt them run into the dimples by his
mouth. Louis glowered as though he hated him already.

“What the fuck happened? On the pitch? What made you look like I’d just destroyed everything?”

Harry shook his head, breathing shaky. Louis thought this was about the kiss. It wasn’t. This was
so much worse. “That’s not what I was talking —”

“Harry.”

He kept shaking his head. He met Louis’ eyes for a second, but the look in them made him avert
his eyes. He couldn’t face him.

“At the match, you looked at me like…” Like he hung the moon. And now Harry had to show the
lie of it. Harry hadn’t even hung a star for him. If Louis had wished he’d get to play for
Manchester, then it was definitely on a star that Harry had plucked from the sky and sent falling.

“Harry,” Louis repeated once more. He looked up and their eyes locked.

“It’s silly,” said his rationality, but his illogical body was crying. His palms tried to cover his face,
but Louis’ fingers caught his. He held them tightly, warmly.

“It’s not silly.” His voice was suddenly gentler — supportive. So, Harry forced himself to continue,
even though it pained him.

“You looked at me like it meant something. And I’m scared that it means what I think it does,
because.” He stopped, breathing raggedly. What if Louis didn’t love him? What if he did, and the
truth about Manchester would shut it down forever? Fuck, he’d never been so confused. “I don’t
know if I’m right, Louis, I don’t. I’m so sorry —”

Louis’ lips touched his. He was leaning in, kissing his wet mouth, hands carving into Harry’s curls
at his neck. Was he telling him that he did love him? That the kiss had meant something? Louis’
thumbs stroked Harry’s jaw, hands holding him in place. He pulled back a little, gazing straight at
Harry like he was telling him it was okay.

“I got into Manchester, Louis. I’m so sorry.”

Louis stared back at him, still. His eyes, ever so full of expression, were suddenly void of any.

He leaned back, and Harry… Louis’ hands left him, his mouth ajar, and Harry thought he was
actually going to perish this time. The loss of his hands felt like the loss of Louis.

He’d done it. It was done. And now Louis hated him.

Words bled out of his heart, fumbling to make it all okay, but they were just words.
“I found out this morning. I’m so sorry. You can still get in Louis, but I have to accept because I —
there’s nothing here for me.” Nothing other than you. “And my parents won’t pay for anything
other than business school, but I got a full scholarship. I can’t not take it, Louis. Please forgive
me.”

His voice broke. He wished money could get anyone into the academy. He’d give his life savings,
steal his parents’, and buy Louis’ way in. He’d do anything. Maybe he should call Coach and tell
him to cancel everything and take him to Chelsea instead?

He sobbed, grabbing at Louis’ hands. “Louis, they could still call!”

Frantic, desperate words. They reverberated against Louis’ silence.

Louis pressed his lips down in a hard line. He shook his head and undid his fingers from Harry’s.

It was over. Done.

The door to the room flew open. Harry and Louis both looked up in surprise to see Stan of all
people barging into the room. Harry could see Zayn and Niall both falling into the room at his
heels. Zayn’s hand was on Stan’s shoulder, and there was anger in his eyes.

“Oi, there you are!” Stan was grinning, and he was holding a curled-up piece of fabric. He tossed it
at Louis’ lap. “Jas asked me to pass it on. Nice one. About time you got laid!” His loud cackle
followed, entirely unaware of the suspense in the room. He turned and left, leaving four people
staring at the wrinkly garment.

Louis was silent. Harry frowned at what looked like a t-shirt. It was grey, had folded end seams,
and a recognisable pocket on the chest. It belonged to Louis. Harry was certain, because he had
worn it. Harry had borrowed it, on multiple occasions. Worn it in the kitchen, drinking tea with
Lottie. Slept in it. Breathed against it when Louis wore it. He knew that t-shirt inside out.

“It’s yours.”

“Harry, it’s not what you think.” It was Niall’s voice.

Harry looked up, confused. Like his mind couldn’t actually fathom it. “What is that supposed to
mean?” he whispered, and more tears slipped over the edge.

“This is fucked up. This whole situation is fucked up.” Louis stood, ripping away from Harry,
absolutely burning every edge of him as he went. He left the room, flanked by Niall.

Zayn moved forward, and then Harry was sitting there, face pressed against his friend’s shoulder,
falling apart as his hands brokenly fisted a grey, sullied t-shirt.

It felt like the tears didn’t stop for days. He cried against Zayn for minutes, and when he got home,
his mother took one look at him and opened her arms, and he fell into them sobbing like a child.
Everything happening over the last week burst out of the closet, and he couldn’t keep it in
anymore. He clutched the t-shirt while his mother held him for the better of an hour. The whole
night, he slept with his nose in the grey fabric, unable to believe it.

“Harry,” Zayn said to him that weekend, eyes downcast and sad. “I saw him go into the bedroom
with her at the party. Liam was helping him, but Liam left. Alone. People are saying…” He shook
his head. “But it can’t be true, right?”
Harry wanted to believe it wasn’t true so badly. He wouldn’t believe Liam was a liar, either. He
was his friend. Just thinking about Louis hurt, and made him want to cry. He almost didn’t feel
angry. He was blindly hoping it wasn’t true. He was too emotionally exhausted for it to be true.

On Monday, he walked into school, his body slashed in two. Part of him felt distraught at the
thought that Louis could have actually done something with Jasmine. He had seen her kiss the
corner of his mouth, and it still made him angry, but if Louis had really slept with her… The
thought was crippling.

The second part of him was preoccupied with piercing guilt and a throbbing agony, knowing he’d
hurt Louis.

He hadn’t done it intentionally. It wasn’t like he’d chosen United over Chelsea to hurt him. The
opposite, in fact. He’d done it to be with him. In whatever way he could.

Stupid. That’s what he was. Naïve. He’d made a choice based on someone else and simultaneously
fucked it with that person specifically.

It had also been his dream to play at Old Trafford since he was a kid. United was one of the biggest
clubs in the world, and who’d say no to them? No one. They’d asked for him. How could he want
to wear blue, if someone was placing red in his hands?

If only he could trade his spot for Louis. But it didn’t work like that, did it?

Harry didn’t see Louis all day at school. It was most likely for the best because he’d probably end
up breaking down if he saw the pain in his eyes one more time. However, Louis didn’t show at
football training, either. The boys waited an extra five minutes before they started, but eventually
stepped out onto the grass. It felt wrong. It was Louis’ day to lead training. Harry asked Coach
Abrahams and was told with a grumble that Louis was sick. Harry didn’t believe it for a second.

Despite all that had happened, Harry knew him. He knew Louis Tomlinson. And he wasn’t at
practice because he was sick; he wasn’t there because he was giving up. It was easy to see. If Louis
couldn’t get into United, what was there to play for? He was a cynic. He didn’t believe in miracles,
or trust the future. He didn’t believe in God, and while Harry didn’t, either, he still sensed
goodness and believed in something.

Loving someone like that could never be easy. Loving someone like that was hard. Harry still did,
though.

That night, lying in bed, he picked up his phone. He wrote, Louis please come to training, don’t
think the match doesn’t matter it matters very much a lot

The team needed him. Coach needed him. Harry needed him. The championship match was
coming up, and they needed him to be there for them. He was the captain, and he was supposed to
lead, not cower away. Harry fucking hated going to practice, unable to share secret smiles and
winks between him and Louis like they’d used to, but he showed up. If not for himself, then for the
boys. Louis had to know that it mattered, right? Just being there for them.

Louis came to training on Tuesday. Harry didn’t know if his message had anything to do with it,
but he hoped so. Even so, during practice, Harry felt nervous. He watched out for any gaze from
Louis, any sign that he was willing to talk, but the few times their eyes met, Louis looked away,
discomfort set in his shoulders and deep frowns cutting his forehead.

Harry wished there was something he could do.

On Wednesday, they finally talked. It wasn’t a good talk.

It happened in the locker room before training. The boys were early, sitting on the benches as they
lazily got dressed. Stan and Oli were closest to Harry, and the rest of the lads were leaning in as
Stan scrolled through the photo album on his phone. Unlike Harry, Stan had had a splendid time at
Jasmine’s party, and the rest of the team were much too interested in seeing the proof. Except for
Louis, who was sitting on the end of the far bench, tying his shoelaces meticulously.

The boys cackled loudly, and not even Harry could refrain from glancing down at the phone. He
was going through the party pictures, and there were plenty now of Louis. He looked drunk. Stan
scrolled; Louis drunk, Louis tired, laughing, sleeping. The next picture was of Liam dragging Louis
into a bedroom, Jasmine not far behind.

Harry wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. It was like staring at a car crash on the highway. This
was what Zayn had been talking about.

In the picture, the three of them disappeared into a room. Next, Liam walked out. The next,
Jasmine came out as she fixed her shirt, hands tugging down at the hem.

The boys were silent because they all knew what it looked like. Then they laughed. Loudly,
boisterously, like lads in a locker room, talking about sex. Meanwhile, Harry’s ribs broke one by
one and imploded into his chest.

He thought he was getting better at controlling his emotions, but clearly not. Just the thought of
Louis sleeping with Jasmine freaked him out. Actually seeing proof of it made his mind collapse in
on itself. His brain stopped functioning.

“Did you fuck her good then?”

He stood up and stared at Louis, anger tying around his veins in bloodred ribbons. The evil in his
body loved this — the emotions, whether it was anger, pain, or sorrow. As long he was going out
of his mind feeling, his body rejoiced. He despised how good it felt to release his emotions onto the
people around him, hoping to ignite them just as much. It was bad, and he was trying to work on it,
but with Louis, all sense went out the window.

Louis stared at him from where he sat on the bench, mouth ajar, face full of shock. “What?” He
grasped for non-existent words. “Who?”

Please.

“Jasmine! That’s who!” He pointed at the phone, undeniable proof vibrating right out of it.

He shook his head a fraction. “I didn’t,” he whispered.

Harry didn’t believe it. The anger in him almost wanted it to be true. Righteous, vindictive.

“Zayn saw you! You got into the bedroom with her. The fucking shirt!”

The shirt that was lying on his bed, wrinkled, and disgusting with snot and tears by now.

Liam’s voice cut through the locker room. He spoke slowly, carefully. “Harry, he didn’t sleep with
her. She washed the shirt because it was gross after the party.”

The fury hesitated. His eyes flickered to Liam. The boy’s eyes were serious, his forehead creased
as he stared back intently. Harry’s breath shook. Liam’s gaze was too intense, like he was trying to
mentally remind Harry of their last conversation.

Harry crossed his arms, fingers digging into his own ribcage as a wave of uncertainty crashed
through him. His whole body felt hot.

Louis spoke, and this time his frown was hard as his eyes drilled directly into Harry’s. “You don’t
trust me.”

Harry swallowed. Did he trust Louis? Ever since they started playing on the same football team,
Louis had worked tirelessly to make sure Harry hated him. He’d laid down layer after layer,
painting untrustworthy images and framing them with solid stone cages. A part of him found it
hard to let go of the image of Louis Tomlinson that had spent years painstakingly detailing Harry’s
misery. Over the past year, that image had begun to crack, flaking off, showing the real Louis
hiding behind all that ache and torment.

Maybe the frame was still there, somewhere. Obviously, Harry found it easy to believe Louis
would fuck Jasmine, even after all they’d been through together.

But then again… If Louis would tell him, himself, straight to Harry’s face that it wasn’t true…
then Harry would believe him. Easily. Other people’s words, he didn’t believe those. Louis was
barely honest with himself, so why would he tell other people anything at all? Harry needed to
know from Louis, and whatever he would say, he knew it would be true. He trusted him, at the
very least, to be honest. He’d proven that, that brief minute where he’d told him what had founded
the acrimony of their relationship.

“I do, Lou,” he whispered. “But it’s scary because you don’t trust me back.”

Louis’ face became something different. It crumpled, both anger and pain turning the blue in his
eyes darker. “It’s not true,” he said. “I trusted you with me.”

They stood there, silently. Harry processing, Louis’ face tormented, the boys around them quiet as
mice.

“Pitch, boys,” ordered Louis, but his eyes never wavered from Harry’s. No one moved. “I said, go
to the pitch!” he roared, anger breaking out through the surface of the words.

As the boys begrudgingly began to move, the two of them remained right there, standing, staring at
each other until they were all alone in the locker room. When he eventually spoke, Louis’ voice
was hard, pained, and sad, all at once.

“Don’t think for a second that I would hurt you like that. You and Jasmine need to sort your
fucking shit out. Leave me out of it, because I’ve been nothing but loyal to you.”

He left, the door slamming shut.

Harry’s hands shook as they pressed against his face. He leaned back against the nearest locker and
slid down to the floor, every piece of him quivering. He cried so silently his jaw ached.

On Saturday night, Harry spent two hours drinking beers in Zayn’s bedroom. He’d had three days
to process Louis’ words.

I trusted you with me.

When they’d had sex, he figured. When they had sex on the purple rug, like they’d never done it
before. When everything was perfect, when there were no misunderstandings, and Jasmine was a
faded torment Harry could push off into the distance.

Louis wasn’t wrong. They did need to sort their shit out. However, Harry wasn’t sure he was ready
to talk it out, and he knew he’d never forgive her. At the very least, the overwhelming fear that
Louis was into her — or Greg for that matter — had been annihilated by Louis’ words. He believed
him, was the thing. The look in Louis’ blue, blue eyes, the tremor in his voice as he said don’t
think for a second that I would hurt you like that… It was pure and honest.

The last couple of days of the school week, Harry didn’t know what to do when he saw Louis. He
had no idea of what to say. So, he did nothing, meanwhile, Louis also did nothing.

“You should just talk to him,” said Zayn, nursing his beer with one hand and cradling his
PlayStation joystick with the other. The game was paused, but Harry’s eyes still remained on the
screen.

“And say what? I’m sorry, I thought you cheated on me? It doesn’t change anything.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not about that. Not really.”

“What’s it about now, then? I don’t get it. Is it about you going to United? Or, is it about you guys
being in love with each other and being too dumb to do anything about it, or what…?”

Liam had asked the same thing, in other words. What was the issue here, really? The problem,
deep down, wasn’t Jasmine, or United. Harry knew that on some level. They were pieces of the
puzzle, but the main issue was that Harry was in love with Louis, and Louis… Harry had no idea
what he was thinking. If Louis was in love with him, where was his mind in all of this? What kept
him away? Was it actually United?

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” said Harry. He finished his fourth beer of the night. “I never
do. He thinks so much and says so little. It’s like… guessing and gambling. I didn’t used to care
what he thought when I did things, and I didn’t use to overthink stuff before I did them. Now, it’s
like, all I do is think. And all I care about is what he’s thinking.”

Zayn turned around where he was sitting on the floor, and craned his head up to stare at Harry,
who sat on the bed against the wall, as usual. “Mate. Just stop fucking thinking. Go to his house,
and say whatever the fuck you want. You’ll feel better.” Harry pondered it. Zayn stood and began
tugging at his arms, pulling him off the bed. “Get up.”

“Zayn…”

“Just do it. Here.” He handed him another beer. “Drink this, and then go to his house.”

Harry didn’t know why, but he took the beer and drained it in a couple of minutes’ silence.

“Well done. Now get the fuck out of here.” Zayn pushed at Harry until he was downstairs. Then he
grabbed Harry’s jacket and began dressing him as he clumsily slid into his sneakers. Zayn grinned
and pushed him out of the house, waving as Harry fumbled to stand upright on the grass lawn.
“Call me after.”

“After what?” he huffed, fixing his clothes and pushing his curls out of his face.
“After you make up, twat. You can tell me how the sex was.”

“Ugh.”

“Bye, Harry.” He closed the door.

He was left in the front yard, sighing heavily. Even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, he
started walking. Louis’ house was on the way home, anyhow. His steps were a little uncoordinated
as he went, the fifth beer really starting to sink in after a few minutes.

By the time he reached Louis’ house, he didn’t feel amazing. And unfortunately, the lamp in
Louis’ window was off. It didn’t look like anyone was home, but it was a Saturday. Maybe his
mother was working that weekend, and maybe Lottie was with her best mate. Where was Louis,
then? Where would he be on a Saturday night?

It was the last evening before the Championship final. Tomorrow was the last match with the team,
with the lads. Their boys.

So, where was Louis?

The footie pitch! Obviously.

Harry headed off briskly.

He was right. When he crossed the parking lot at school, he could feel that he was right. As he
closed in on the bleachers, he heard the metal net behind the goal rustling and low mutters of
profanities.

“Of course, you’re here!” he called out, pleased that he knew Louis well enough to guess so
correctly.

Harry strode onto the grass pitch, watching as Louis stopped mid-kick. He’d lined up several balls
and seemed to be aiming all of them at the goal, sending them into the net one by one. Well… by
the looks of it, he seemed to have missed a few.

“Of bloody course, you’re here…!” Harry continued, still proud of himself. His voice ended in a
vague melody. He picked up his pace and jumped a little as he approached Louis from the side of
the pitch.

Louis swerved and stared at him grimly. He was wearing a jumper and shorts, his feet in cleats but
normal sports socks. His hair was messy. “Jesus Christ. Have you been drinking?” he said
exasperatedly.

“Just a little.” He stopped a few paces away, not daring to come too close. He clasped his hands
behind his back.

“Fuck, Harry. We have a game tomorrow,” Louis complained. He turned and landed a hard shot at
the nearest football. Harry heard the crossbar vibrating as it hit, but he didn’t let his eyes leave
Louis. He was here for him, not football.

“It’s just a few beers,” he defended. “And I don’t get hungover.”

Louis snorted. “As if. Didn’t you spend an entire morning in my bathroom after we drank too many
shooters?” He kicked a ball, meanwhile, Harry felt his stomach clench. That was when they’d had
fun. It had also been when Louis told him the real truth behind their relationship.
“I don’t get hungover on beer.”

Louis changed subject, not looking at him. “Why do you always show up when I’m here?” He
attacked another ball.

“It’s not your pitch.”

“Why are you here?” Another kick.

The flying footballs were making Harry’s head spin. “Okay, will you just chill with the shooting
for a bit? Relax… God.”

“No, I will not!” Louis twisted around, and suddenly he was exploding right in Harry’s face. He
stalked forward and stood inches from his face, yelling angry words that Harry tried to process as
fast as he could, even though his head affected by beer was falling behind. “How the fuck am I
supposed to relax?! Do you have any idea what it feels like losing the only thing that’s going to
fucking save you from this fucking hellhole?”

“You haven’t lost, Louis,” Harry maintained, feeling his heartbeat escalate. He took a small step
back, watching Louis’ flared nostrils inhale, his eyes wide. He hated that Louis thought his life was
over. “They can still call.”

“Don’t be so fucking naïve, Harry.”

The anger in his voice was painful, and the guilt started to rise in Harry’s chest again, but he
clenched his teeth, trying to stay rational. “Louis, the game hasn’t even occurred yet. Stop thinking
that everything is over when you’re not even close to the finish line.”

As far as he knew, the scouts were still coming to watch the final, and there were so many other
academies and clubs that would be interested in Louis if he simply tried.

“But it is over!” Louis yelled back. He kicked another ball, missing the goal by a yard.

It wasn’t over. Fuck, would Louis open his fucking eyes? Why was he acting like his life was
finished when so many good things were happening in it?

This was what Louis did, Harry realised. He didn’t believe, and he pushed things away before he
could lose them. He did it with his father, refusing him even though he kept trying to be in Louis’
life. Now, he was doing it with football.

Last time, in the bathtub, Harry had explained what he felt as Louis told his dad to go. He could do
it again. He could tell Louis how he felt as he was watching him stop trying.

In retrospect, Harry knew he should have said it kindly, but it came out angry and desperate. Once
he’d started, there was no stopping it.

“You act as if you have nowhere to go when you do. It drives me crazy! You’ve got one thing in
your head. You don’t see anything clearly! Even if Manchester doesn’t pick you, you’ve got
fucking options. Your grades are good, Louis. Your football is far above mediocre, and there are
other programs! You’ve got job experience, the teachers love you, and Coach respects you so
much. You have people falling in love with you from left to right, and you don’t even notice any of
it.”

Harry’s jaw ached. His throat felt dry. Louis had so many beautiful things around him, and he
treated them like rubbish. Moreover, Harry had been head-over-heels in love with him for months,
and he hadn’t noticed a thing.

Louis stood in front of Harry, blinking stupidly. “Who’s in love with me?”

I am, you fucking idiot!

How could Louis say that? How could he stand there, on the footie pitch, just… pretending that he
didn’t already know? As though he hadn’t watched Harry fall in love with him, and then shrivel up
and die inside as Jasmine kissed his face. He’d looked him in the eye as he let it happen. And then
he’d witnessed Harry freak out at the thought of Louis fucking her. Didn’t he understand anything?
Did he think Harry would have the same reaction if it was anyone else?

God, Harry hated him. But he also needed Louis to hold him together. Louis’ confusion was tearing
his chest apart.

The bravery faded. “I don’t know. Girls? Greg?”

Louis looked impossibly upset. His voice was a whisper. “Greg has a girlfriend, you fucking piece
of shit.”

Greg had a girlfriend? It felt like a blatant lie. Harry didn’t believe it. In either case, Greg sure
seemed like he was more interested in feeling Louis up than staying faithful to his girl.

Louis returned to shooting his footballs at the goal. Harry’s shoulders hurt with tension, and the
incessant shooting was giving him a headache. And that was fucking absurd, given that football, in
any form, always used to make him feel good.

“Don’t stop until it’s actually over,” he said, unable to let it go despite the ache in his chest. He
couldn’t let Louis give up on his life.

“Harry, for fuck’s sake —”

“It’s not over!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Trust me, goddammit, Louis!”

Harry stalked over and dragged him back by the arm, keeping him from kicking footballs and
making him actually listen to him, for once. Louis staggered and ripped away from him. The
motion, Louis’ arm slipping out of Harry’s hand, felt like a balloon collapsing inside. Harry
deflated.

“Louis,” he urged, still hoping that he’d just get it — understand that Harry was in love with him
and would never do something to intentionally mislead him. “It’s been months, babe, just trust me
on this.”

“Don’t call me that! And I don’t trust people. I trust myself,” he announced, proclaiming it as if
Harry didn’t already know that. “I trusted you, Harry, and look where it’s gotten me.”

He forced himself not to let the hot mess burning in his eyes slip out. “It’s not my fault that —”

“I’m not talking about the fucking scholarship.” He turned, and this time he picked the football up
and hauled it across the field, frustration practically oozing off him.

“Louis,” Harry begged, throat hurting as he spoke. He couldn’t watch him do this. “You’ve got
everything on a leash. You’ve been killing yourself doing what you’re doing. You have a job,
school, footie, all this shit with your family and — me. You’re going to hit a wall if you don’t stop.
It drives me insane watching you.” He swallowed before his voice broke down completely.
“You’re never completely at ease. You worry so much, and I can’t think of a moment where
you’ve just let everything be.”

Louis looked at him, silent for once. His chest heaved from attacking the footballs, but his eyes
were unreadable.

“Sometimes it’s better to let go,” whispered Harry.

Louis’ breath caught for a second, but when he spoke, the words were tremendously careful. “Do
you want me to let go?”

Of course, was his initial thought. Of course, he wanted Louis to let go. He wanted him to accept
good things and not disbelieve everything, try to let life come at him as it may. Harry genuinely
believed Louis would be happier if he did.

He didn’t know what to say anymore. There was only so much he could do.

“I don’t know what you want from me.” Louis shook his head, retreating.

Harry wanted him to be in love with him. Harry wanted Louis to be irrevocably, heart-achingly,
painfully in love, just like he was. He couldn’t say that, though. He could only say the thing that he
knew was acceptable.

“I want you.” He took a step forward. Please.

Louis’ head shook a fraction at Harry’s desperation. “See, you say that, but it’s not enough. And it
won’t make any part of us okay.”

He left the football pitch and Harry could only watch him go.
 Chapter 17

“Mum…” Harry said it hesitantly.

It was Sunday morning. His father was golfing, but she was sitting there in the kitchen, drinking
her coffee and reading the paper on her iPad. Harry was preparing his breakfast; eggs, toast, coffee,
water, sausage, beans… Loading up on carbs and protein, essentially. For lunch, he’d have rice
with avocado and salmon. His bag was already packed and waiting at the door. He was ready for
tonight. There was only one thing he wanted to do that he hadn’t already.

His mother looked up from the iPad and blinked at him, a little smile on her lips. “Yes, darling?”

“Tonight, my football team’s playing our last match. It’s the final of… a cup, and it would mean a
lot to me if you and dad were there to watch it.”

He looked at his plate as he spoke. He’d been thinking about it all week, but it wasn’t until last
night that he decided to ask them. The conversation with Louis on the bed, all those weeks ago
before the semi-final, Louis had told him to ask them. Last night, Harry had begged Louis to listen
to him, but how could he expect Louis to do that if Harry never listened in return? So, he was
taking his advice.

It only took his mother a moment to answer. “Yes. Of course, dear. I’ll call your father right now.
What time?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged and he inhaled in relief, the anxious yarn in his stomach beginning to
unknot. “It starts seven-thirty.”

That early evening, walking towards the locker room, it had never felt as good looking up at the
bleachers. For once, someone would be there, not rooting for the team, but for him. He couldn’t
remember the last time he saw his mother in the stands.

He got dressed slowly, nerves trickling through his limbs as he moved. His fingers felt like honey,
and the little braid in his curls he made and tucked under a thin headband came out wonky. He tied
the captain’s armband around his bicep, feeling the pressure of the elastic material squeeze.
Usually, it felt right. Not tonight. He’d worked hard for this team, but deep down he knew that
Louis had worked harder. On the night that the scouts would be there to watch them, it didn’t feel
fair that Harry should get the privilege of wearing it. He had already been accepted.

“Boys,” he said, looking around at the group of lads dressing by his side. “I know that we always
switch who’s captain, and it’s my turn tonight… but if you’re all okay with it, I’d like to give it to
Louis. I think he has fought very hard this year to make all of us a better team, so… I think it’s only
fair that he’s our captain tonight. Is that okay?” He looked at them all, their eyes wide with surprise
at the gesture. They had witnessed the fight on Wednesday and felt the tension it had caused
throughout the week that had passed.

“Yes, of course,” Liam said firmly.

“Yes, mate,” Stan nodded. The rest of them agreed, standing up and giving him a clap on the
shoulder each. Harry nodded. Good. He felt a little bit better.

After a few minutes of finishing touches on his kit, he heard, “Styles, can you come out with me?”
It was Coach.
Harry followed him out of the locker room and around the building, stopping only when they
reached a man and a woman. They wore casual clothes, the man with brown eyes and dark skin,
the woman pale and dark-haired. Coach introduced them as Gary Cooper and Belinda Madden.
Harry instantly wondered why Coach kept springing these things on him, but smiled and shook
their hands, politely answering their questions.

“Looking forward to seeing you play, Harry. We’ve seen a lot of video content, but it’s exciting to
see you in real action.” Mrs. Madden genuinely looked intrigued, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t
disappoint her.

Mr. Cooper pointed at the armband around his bicep as Harry was about to return to the locker
room with Coach. “Good luck, Captain.”

“Thank you, sir,” he smiled, but it vanished as they began walking away. “Why did you do that to
me without warning?” he exhaled heavily, but Coach only laughed, winking knowingly.

They strode inside, and Harry found Louis dressing at the end of one of the benches. He was
focused on his jersey, and looked away as soon as Harry tried to catch his eyes.

Harry walked up to him slowly. Louis was facing the wall, his jersey hanging from his shoulders in
a snug fashion. Harry knew how soft the skin was between Louis’ shoulder blades, how it’d feel if
he slid his fingers under the shirt and up. He missed it. He missed him, but the conversation last
night had done nothing but prove that Louis was as confusing as ever.

“Louis,” he said softly, approaching. He turned around, but he refused to meet Harry’s eyes.
Instead, he focused on the armband Harry had taken off his own arm. Harry held it out gently.
“Here.”

He frowned. “It’s not mine. I was last game, Harry.” It felt good to hear him speak quietly. Warm
Louis would never stop feeling like heaven.

“Want you to have it.”

“Harry…”

“Please. I talked to the lads, we all agree. You should be captain on the last game of the season.
You’ve made us a better team this year, and you’ve been entirely devoted to us. You deserve it.”

Louis remained quiet. Harry carefully took his right hand in his, and placed the armband in his
palm. It took effort, but he let him go. Louis nodded, small and tight. It was all Harry had wanted,
so he didn’t push for more. He turned around and walked back to his own locker.

As they listened to Coach talk before warm-up, their eyes met. Harry smiled, hoping that Louis
would do the same, but he only looked away. Harry just wanted him back.

They left the locker room, Harry among the last few boys, along with Louis. As they hit the paved
ground outside the building, an unknown voice called out, “Oi! Tomlinson!”

Harry spun around, watching as a few lads from the opposing team approached Louis and the boys
from Donny that still lingered. They wore green, and the boy in the middle had dark hair and black
brows, his eyes full of intent as he sized Louis up.

“Y’alright, mate?” asked Louis, his eyebrows arched haughtily. He had crossed his arms, and
Harry moved in by his side, not liking the look of the green-clad boy.
“You’re up by three in the scoring league.”

Louis smirked easily. “Damn right, I am.”

He snorted. “Shouldn’t be so confident, since I’ll be taking that spot after tonight.”

Louis’ laugh was cold, and it reminded Harry of how he used to laugh at him. It was a long time
since he’d heard that sort of laugh. “Your self-righteousness is disgusting,” said Louis.

“And your holier-than-thou attitude is appalling,” added Harry, unable to help himself. He didn’t
like the way the other boy was nailing his eyes on Louis.

He didn’t twitch a muscle at Harry’s words, but continued, “Maybe if you’d practiced your free
kicks a little more, you wouldn’t have ruined your chances at getting through to the final match
properly, instead of playing bingo with penalties. Maybe you wouldn’t need to walk over here to
rile people up if your footie was actually above mediocre.”

The boy with the black brows scowled, clearly unprepared for Louis’ unflinching ability to mouth
off using the most personal of offences. “You can talk, Tommo, but it won’t earn you a golden
trophy.”

“That’s exactly what I just said, you incompetent moron.”

Harry held in a laugh. The dark-haired boy didn’t seem to have a good comeback, because he
scoffed and began to turn as though to leave. As he did, his eyes ran over Harry’s face, from his
smirk to his arched brows. His eyes caught on Harry’s hair.

“Nice braid, princess.”

Harry’s smirk evaporated. His stomach dropped. The guy might as well have called him a fag.

Harry felt movement around him before he had even comprehended the insult. He was still in
shock as he saw Louis, followed by their remaining teammates, take two heated steps in front of
him.

Louis spoke coldly and harshly. “Why don’t you take the homophobic piece of shit language you
just threw at my boy and shove it up your fucking arse, before I punch you in the fucking throat.”

“Oi! Lads!” Coach Abrahams’ voice was loud and cutting through the huddle. “What are you
doing? Get to warm-up. Now, let’s go!”

Before Harry knew it, the opposing team’s players were dispersing and heading down towards the
pitch. Harry was left with three words reverberating through him: fag and my boy.

Louis sighed at Coach’s words, his shoulders slumping as he murmured something intelligible
under his breath. He began to follow the rest of the players, but Harry’s hand touched his shoulder.

“What?” He didn’t sound upset, only tired, for whatever reason.

Harry looked up through his lashes, throat dry and heart thrumming just a little faster than normal.
“You called me your boy.” All he wanted was to be Louis’.

He crossed his arms. The words were a soft sigh. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

Harry watched him go, internally begging him to turn around and come back so they could be each
other’s again.
As Harry walked onto the pitch, he heard people cheering from the bleachers. They were full
tonight. It was a wall of red with specks of green, and he couldn’t help smiling as the cheers for the
Donny lads rang out around them. He spotted Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Madden standing on the left
end, and he felt both pressure and excitement entwining. He didn’t only want to prove himself,
though; he wanted them to see Louis play. He deserved the chance to show them just how fucking
good he was. He deserved to play at an academy as much as Harry did.

As he made his warm-up exercises together with the team, he noticed Louis’ family on the
bleachers. He noticed the sparkling sign with his jersey number first, then Lottie’s blonde hair, and
their mum standing by her side. Then he recognised Louis’ father, and by his side, three more girls.
Louis’ family was all there. Harry smiled despite himself, and glanced over at Louis. He was
stretching, bending down over his left leg slightly. His fringe hung down into his eyes, and the
captain’s armband tightly wrapped around his bicep. He deserved this. Louis deserved to be happy.

Harry wished his own parents were there, though.

He kept warming, netting his trial shots, getting his lungs used to the faster flow of oxygen through
his system. As Louis strode up to the middle circle for the coin flip, Harry glanced one last time at
the bleachers, stomach clenching with nerves. If they didn’t come…

He shook his head. Fuck.

Louis won the coin flip, choosing side as usual. Harry always chose ball.

They gathered in a huddle, yelling focus into each other ears and hyping one another up for the last
time. Louis pounded all of their backs, and Harry squeezed Liam’s shoulder.

“You’ve got this, mate,” said Liam, eyes fiercely burning.

Harry nodded, threw one last glance at the bleachers and —

His mum. She stood at the right corner, below the bleachers where there was still space. She wore
a beige puffer vest, hair dark and folded into a clip at her neck. She wore her golden earrings and
pink lipstick. Next to her stood his father. He wore Ralph Lauren and jeans.

Harry bit down a grin. He looked back towards to pitch where the boys were ready.

All right. Let’s fucking do this.

Football was easy again. As the ref blew the whistle, Harry was flying across the pitch. The team,
despite the obvious tension of the last few weeks, knew exactly what to do. The midfield and wings
worked together in pressure, choosing together when to push and when to sit. The defence and the
half-backs knew when to switch players, when to fall back, and when to rise in the correct second
in order to play the opposing strikers offside. It felt good. Harry felt good.

Still, the other team was their championship opponent for a reason. They, too, were good. They
were tough, and physical. The central defenders were tall and often played man-to-man defence.
Harry had a defender on him everywhere he went, as though they’d studied his movement range
beforehand. Harry should have known that, considering Coach had gone through the other team’s
strengths and weaknesses just as thoroughly.

Around the twenty-minute mark, Louis was knocked from behind, seconds after he’d already sent
the ball to Jonah. His knees folded, and his legs scratched against the grass as he slid off to the
side.
“Fucking card, ref!” Harry yelled instantly, outraged at the foul tackle right outside the penalty
area.

Louis, standing on his knees on the grass, swore at the opposing player. “Keep your fucking feet
aimed at the fucking ball, will you?!”

The ref gestured for him to calm down, but held up a clear yellow card at the player who’d made
the offense. Harry exhaled and walked up to the ball, kicking it towards the right position. The
opposing team began organising themselves in the penalty area, some of Harry’s teammates getting
positioned in the middle of the huddle. Harry was left with Lee and Louis in front of the ball. They
weren’t far from the goal, in the middle of the pitch, just outside the penalty area line. It would be
an attempt to score; no cross.

“Louis takes it,” said Lee.

“Should I?”

Harry’s eyes flashed to him. Was he… asking? What the hell was going on with him? Harry had
never heard him question such a thing before. Had these last couple of weeks fucked with him as
much as they’d fucked with Harry?

“When have you ever asked?” said Lee.

“I’ll line you up,” decided Harry. He knew Louis could score from there. He’d seen it happen.

Louis nodded and took a few steps back. Once the ref finally blew the whistle, Harry nudged the
ball a slight bit forward. Then Louis took three determined steps and slammed his ankle into the
football.

It soared. It went straight over the wall of defenders and into the right-hand upper corner. It went
in. Goal.

The team erupted in screams and jumped into a tight jumble, yelling praise at Louis and shaking his
shoulders. Harry laughed — he’d known Louis would score. He’d felt it.

He watched Louis’ expressionless face turn into a small, pleased grin. He was unfathomably
gorgeous, eyes sparkling with relief and delight all at once. Harry couldn’t believe that Louis didn’t
know how fucking amazing he was.

The match wasn’t over. Only a few minutes after kick-off, the opposing team advanced. Ed made a
mistake on the right side of the pitch, and the nearest green jersey didn’t hesitate to steal the ball
and launch it up the field to his winger. It took only seconds before they were sliding the ball in
under Liam’s helpless arms.

The match turned more physical. The Donny boys were full of anger from the conceded goal, and
the other team was energised by the sudden change of play in their favour. It was a tie, 1-1, and the
other team had the momentum. But Louis, dominating the midfield in his sitting position, was
fierce and edging on brutal. Coach was telling him to tone it down, but towards the end of the first
half, he knocked a player in the back, sending him abruptly to the grass, landing on his front. The
player looked like he wanted to kill him, and Louis didn’t look remorseful in the slightest. The ref
missed it, didn’t card him, and the green team was in outrage.

Louis walked off like he’d done nothing wrong, meanwhile, Harry ran a hand over his face, not
knowing whether to laugh or cry. Louis was great. Just great. Harry felt no pity for the other team.
As they hit halftime, Harry’s thighs were burning. He wiped his face with his jersey, drank water,
and let his lungs inhale deep, calming breaths. He glanced over at the bleachers and found his
mother holding her hands in front of her chest, staring at him, full of anticipation.

Harry waved and she reciprocated it quickly, smiling brightly at him. “So good,” she seemed to
mouth across the distance, and Harry had never felt so oddly appeased. He grinned, but quickly
turned back to the pitch.

Inhale, exhale. All right.

The second half was harder. The game was cut up by free-kicks, disrupting the flow of play, and
every time Harry thought they were close to scoring something happened. Yellow cards, missed
opportunities, saves, goal posts… Harry’s jersey was wet with sweat, and his curls were plastered
to his forehead and neck. His lungs burned.

The other team scored thirty minutes in.

Subsequently, Louis knocked down another player, and the ref didn’t miss it this time. The other
team was screaming in fury. The ref awarded him the card he already should’ve had, and Harry
could hear the team around him huffing and grumbling as they pulled Louis away from the fouled
player. They hadn’t played as tough of a match in a while, and although Harry loved this feeling —
the fight, the intensity — he needed them to win.

The other team readied themselves for the free-kick. The Donny players formed a wall, the rest of
the boys lining up in the zone defence they’d practiced so many times. Harry took his spot at the
right edge of the goal area, eyes trained on his green player who wasn’t allowed to touch the ball,
no matter what. Harry couldn’t let him out of his eye-line for a second.

The captain of the other team took the shot, firmly hitting the left goalpost. Gasps of relief and
disappointment simultaneously echoed from the bleachers. The ball was free, though, and Liam
was fast. He picked it up in a flash, throwing it far and hard out on the left edge of the pitch to
Lee’s feet. Harry was already running on the other side.

Lee flitted down the pitch at a speed Harry had never seen him hit before. He was quick, precise,
and deadly as he headed towards the far end of the pitch. Louis was running in the middle, coming
up behind Lee, the fastest player on the pitch as always. Harry could feel a player behind himself,
but he raced faster, cutting in from the right and heading towards the edge of the opposing penalty
area.

Lee sent the ball to Louis. The three of them were up against the two remaining central defenders,
who were torn between whom to approach. Louis had the ball at his feet, facing both of them at
once, outside the penalty arc. Harry was free on the edge, onside. Louis passed his first opponent,
and suddenly he was all alone with one defender.

“Hey!” Harry called, déjà vu ringing through his head. Last time, Louis had refused to
acknowledge that Harry existed and lost the ball in lieu of trusting that Harry could score.

Pass the ball, Louis, he thought desperately. Please.

Then he looked up. Louis saw him. Louis passed the ball.

It landed at Harry’s feet, perfectly timed. Harry received it, cut closer to the goal, and sent it flying
with a hard, powerful shot into the back of the net.

He scored.
The boys were on him instantly, jumping onto him in free-falls of ecstasy. They were even again.

The boys hugged one another, arms tight and sweaty. Harry glanced over at Louis, who was
smiling so wide that his eyes nearly disappeared between crinkled skin. His arms were raised into
the air in fists. He looked like he belonged at Old Trafford in front of seventy thousand reds. Harry
loved him.

He inhaled deeply as they dispersed, exhaling through his nose to calm his heartbeat. Now, they
just needed the winning goal.

It never came. The second half continued in the same brutal fashion of tackles and missed
opportunities, and once the ref ended the second half, it was still 2-2. Extra time was upon them.

Coach made two changes, but Harry knew he was going to play the next thirty minutes. There was
no way he was walking off that pitch. It was where he belonged.

He stretched, forcing ache from his limbs as he listened to Coach’s instructions intensely.
Somewhere along the way, they’d stopped putting pressure on the defence together, and without
the support of the midfield, Harry and his fellow winger could run around like dogs for the rest of
the night without payoff. Harry knew they were all tired, but they needed to work together again.
This was when Louis’ hard conditioning came into play. He’d forced them to prepare for this
moment.

Extra time was painful. Harry’s thighs shook, and he had to stop for his calves cramping twice, as
did his opposing defenders. They had been running for over two hours, and after the extra time
came stoppage time, just like the usual halves. After the first part of extra time was over, it was
still 2-2.

Fifteen minutes more to score, or they’d have penalties.

Harry was tired. They hadn’t had a match this intense in almost two seasons.

It wasn’t only him who was exhausted. The half-back on his side was breathing heavily, and Harry
knew if he got the ball at perfect timing, he’d be able to get away from him. He just needed the
ball. However, it was running through an endless cycle between the midfielders. Green possession,
red possession, and so it went on. It was only when Louis stole the ball off someone’s clumsy
dribbling that Harry had a chance to run for it. The ball soared towards him — Louis once again
seeing him — and he was suddenly alone with one player. Harry rounded him… and subsequently
felt the weight of his jersey being tugged roughly backwards. He struggled, the ball rolling away
from him.

His team screamed in anger. The ref whistled… free-kick.

“What the fuck!” Harry screamed. Free kick?! That was a red card! The guy was the last player
between Harry and the goalkeeper, and his illegal manoeuvre was preventing a clear scoring
opportunity. “It’s a send-off!” he exclaimed, eyes wide and staring at the ref, who only shook his
head grimly. “Fuck!” Harry yelled at the grass.

“Calm down, Harry,” said Ed on his side. “We need you.”

He already had a yellow, and getting another for protest would be highly unprofessional. Harry
threw his hands out in fury, but nonetheless walked off. Fucking hell.

The free-kick resolved nothing. As did the rest of the extra time. The ref finished the stoppage time
and Harry stared at the ground, his chest rising and falling quickly and as he realised what it meant.
Penalties. Fuck. No matter what, it was never a sure thing. Harry couldn’t believe they had to
finish the championship on a gamble.

The team gathered in a circle around Coach at the side of the pitch. Water bottles were passed
around as he cleared his throat, looking around at them. Of course, they had prepared for scenarios
like this. Coach knew exactly which players were to take penalties and who wasn’t.

“Lee. Harry. Jonah. Stan.” He looked at Louis. “Louis.”

Harry nodded. Yes. They were the ones who were going to bring it home.

Coach stepped towards Louis, and Harry followed his movements, for the first time realising the
panic in Louis’ eyes. His eyes. His gorgeous blue eyes, which were always full of confidence, were
now wide and flickering.

“Louis,” said Coach. “It’s just a silly footie game.”

“It’s not silly, it’s my life.”

“Is it going to kill you, taking the penalty?”

“No —”

“Then it’s not your life.”

“You can do it,” encouraged Liam, voice serious.

Harry stopped listening. He knew Louis could do it. He could. The boy just had to fucking believe
it.

He ran his hands through his hair, shaking out his curls and repositioning the headband. He inhaled
three times and exhaled three times in quick progression. It allowed oxygen to flow to his brain,
calming his nerves and allowing focus. Jonah helped him stretch his calves out.

They gathered at one of the goals after five minutes. Harry stood with his teammates, arms around
each other, breathing long breaths. Liam lost the flip, and the other team got to start. It meant more
pressure. It would be more mentally demanding.

Liam walked over to the goal and positioned himself as an opposing player grasped the ball and
placed it neatly at the penalty spot. Harry watched as he sank the ball into the left side of the net, as
Liam went right.

0-1.

Lee was next. Liam and the other keeper changed places. Lee meticulously positioned the ball.
Harry’s chest ached as he watched, and he nearly collapsed with relief as Lee scored. The boys
yelled out fiercely and wrapped their arms around him as he came back to the huddle. Harry
clapped his back with too much force. 1-1.

Next, Liam jumped the millisecond the opposing player touched the ball, miraculously getting his
fingertips on it where it was aimed at the left bottom corner. The bleachers erupted in ecstasy. The
other team had missed. And then it was Harry’s turn.

He felt his teammates pound his back before he left them. He walked up to the spot, jaw clenched
as he placed the ball neatly where he wanted it. He rolled it back slightly, the star painted in the
leather facing upwards. His stomach clenched, but he forced emotions out of his body. He couldn’t
afford to be emotional. What was needed was utter, cold professionalism.

At the ref’s whistle, he took one last breath. He stepped forward and hit the ball forcefully. It took
off through the air towards the right side, and curved in an outward bow into the small net,
completely out of reach for the goalkeeper. Beautiful.

Harry turned around, exhaling his heaviest breath in a long time. His boys were screaming, and as
he ran back to them, he raised his fist, feeling their elation wrap around him. He loved these
fucking boys so much, and he couldn’t believe that this was their last match together.

He came to stand next to Ed. All he could do now was watch it all play out before him. He wished
it was in his own hands, but it had to be a team effort.

He felt a fist clench around the back of his jersey. Someone was holding onto him, presumably for
comfort. Harry glanced around him, but Ed’s arm was wrapped over his shoulders. Harry looked
past him, and found Louis on Ed’s other side. It was his hand, he realised. Louis was holding onto
him. As if he needed him to comfort him, just like Harry perpetually had needed him to do the
same.

Harry said nothing. Only watched the penalties before them unfold.

It was 2-1. Then it became 2-2, and there were only two more shots left each. If it ended even, then
another round of five each awaited. And Harry wasn’t allowed to kick again.

Jonah missed. The boys hugged him tightly as he returned, face red and contorted in pure pain.

The other team scored. 2-3.

Stan scored. 3-3.

Then, after a near save by Liam, 3-4, and all of a sudden it was Louis’ turn to take the last penalty.
If he scored, they would start another round. If Louis missed… Well.

Louis left the huddle quietly. He didn’t look back, but Harry saw the tension in his shoulders. His
steps were stiff as he approached the spot.

Harry knew Louis had flaws. He was a human being after all. And even when all Harry had seen in
him was flaws, he’d never doubted him on the pitch. Once he’d gotten to know Louis, he’d
realised that he doubted things relentlessly. Harry just hadn’t realised that he did the same on the
pitch. He’d thought Louis found football easy. Right at that moment, Harry knew that Louis was
scared.

Harry wished he could tell him that it didn’t matter what happened, but he couldn’t. It would be a
lie.

Louis carefully but quickly adjusted the position of the ball to his liking. He didn’t take his time,
like Harry, once again proving their differences. He stepped backwards and waited for the ref’s
whistle. Harry watched, eyes trained on Louis’ every move, his insides locked in stone. He felt the
tension around the pitch, on the bleachers, the pure and burning silence.

Louis took three steps forward and struck the ball so hard Harry would’ve missed it if he’d blinked.

Harry stopped breathing. His stomach dropped.

The ball shot up into the underside of the crossbar, the keeper throwing himself low to the other
side. The ball hit the bar and shot hard into the ground. It bounced. On the line. The goalkeeper
was nowhere close. It could go in, or out. There was no stopping it.

It bounced, shot up, was redirected down by gravity, and… out.

Out.

The goalkeeper jumped up screaming. The green team stormed towards the penalty area, their
arms raised and voices a collective, piercing shriek.

It hit hard. Watching their joy, Harry only felt empty. His teammates fell to the ground, their eyes
staring blankly at nothing as reality hit them. They had lost the championship.

Harry watched Louis walk away. He watched Liam slam his fist into the goalpost. He watched
Jonah erupt in tears, and he watched Ed biting his lip into his mouth not to cry. Stan was staring at
his shoes where he sat on the grass, and Harry heard the echoing silence from the people on the
bleachers mixed with the cheers of the green team and their few supporters.

“No, it’s not okay!” he heard from the corner of the pitch. It was Louis’ voice. Harry spun around,
and saw Louis angrily rip away from Coach, heading down towards the parking lot. He was
running, leaving.

Harry bolted after him. He ran past Coach, who was shaking his head in sadness, and past his
parents who were huddled in the corner. Harry made his way quickly through the crowd, around
the corner of the bleachers, and caught Louis’ hand at the edge of the parking lot.

“Louis!” He pulled at him, tugging him back towards himself with tangible force.

Louis practically fell into his arms. Harry squeezed around his body as hard as he possibly could,
and he felt it as Louis’ body started shaking against him. He felt his tears against his throat.

The sound was the worst. Harry had never felt a sound strike through his very core like that. Louis
crying, against him, was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced.

His own eyes were welling up, tears sliding down along his nose as he pressed his cheek to the side
of Louis’ head, holding on for dear life. Louis’ fingers clutched around Harry’s t-shirt, as if he, too,
needed this.

Eyes shut against Louis’ hair, Harry inhaled. He loved him so much it hurt.

“It was only a few inches, baby.” If only.

“Close, but no fucking cigar, innit?” whispered Louis. He tore free from Harry’s arms and hurried
away, far from the school and out of Harry’s reach.

In the locker room, they sat silently. Harry was on the floor, heated tears burning in his eyes.
Liam’s arms were around his shoulders, his sweaty temple pressing into Harry’s jaw as they simply
sat there. Lee was lying on a bench, feet on the floor, arms covering his face. Stan had punched his
locker so hard there was a dent at the corner of it. Ed was consoling a crying Jonah who’d also
missed his penalty. Coach was sitting in the middle, arms wrapped around Oli and Freddie’s
shoulders. There were no words of wisdom tonight. That would come later when they’d had time to
process.

Harry wished Louis was there. He wished he hadn’t run away. He wished he’d allow himself to be
consoled by his friends. He wished he knew that the team never blamed anyone. They were a team,
winning and losing. Harry just wished Louis knew that.

“I should have saved,” said Liam, shaking his head.

“We shouldn’t have let it get to penalties,” Lee angrily hissed from under his arms.

Harry sat there until it was time to go. Hardly any of them stayed to shower, and Harry walked out
of the locker room, still covered in sweat and wearing his shinpads under his socks. He’d only
switched to sneakers.

As he trudged out of the locker room, he spotted the scouts from Manchester again. They were
talking to one of the green-clad players. His face was red, but filled with joy. It was the boy with
dark hair and black eyebrows, who’d called Harry “princess”. The word still tumbled somewhere
in the middle of him.

“Oh, Harry!” Mrs. Madden called out across the distance. She waved him over, Mr. Cooper
smiling as Harry slowly approached. The boy in green retreated, and Mrs. Madden said, “Well
done, Aaron. Looking forward to seeing you soon.” He thanked her and retired without looking at
Harry, who came to a stop with a wobbly smile. “Harry,” she said, her smile kind. “Beautiful
penalty. Gorgeous.”

“Nice spin,” added Mr. Cooper.

He shrugged. “We didn’t win. Unfortunately.”

Mr. Cooper nodded. “It was a good match. Someone always has to lose these things. Good job on
the pitch, though.”

“Thank you. My team’s… brilliant.” He swallowed, and his throat felt tight at the thought of
leaving them. His boys. “Louis, er, twenty-eight, he’s… You don’t know what it’s like playing
with him. He’s like magic out there, and without him…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say,
or if anything he did say even mattered.

“He was very good,” agreed Mrs. Madden. She glanced at Mr. Cooper and then at her watch.
“Thank you for tonight, Harry. It’ll be great seeing you in Manchester this summer.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks for watching.”

He left, got into his Rover, and drove home. There, walking into the kitchen, he found his mother
and father trying very desperately to hide a “Congratulations On The Win” cake. Harry stopped on
the threshold and watched them hiss and shush each other. As he looked on, he couldn’t help but
chuckle.

“You guys…” He shook his head, wiping his forehead with his hand. He felt utterly exhausted and
they were… Jesus.

His mum stopped her antics, and his father sighed and gave up. He shook his head. “Sorry,” he
huffed in what sounded sort of like a laugh.

Harry exhaled another chuckle. “At least you thought I’d win.”

His mother released a short, unexpected laugh, and then his father was cackling. Meanwhile, Harry
shook his head, but found himself grinning tiredly at them. Christ, but he allowed himself a laugh,
too. It felt oddly good.
He couldn’t believe the three of them were standing there, despite everything, laughing after he’d
just lost the most important football match of the season.

“Should we just eat it?” he said after a while. His parents shrugged, and for the first time in what
felt like two years, they sat in complete comfort at the kitchen table. Eating cake.

Harry hoped Louis was being surrounded by his family tonight. He hoped he was okay.

Days passed after the match. They had exams that week, but other than those, there wasn’t any
point to be at school. Harry hardly showed when he didn’t have to.

Facing the boys on Monday after the match was difficult. They nodded at each other in the
hallways, but none of them were ready to move forward yet. Harry wasn’t ready to accept that he
was leaving them. He wasn’t ready to accept that next season he’d be playing with a whole
different team, with lads he didn’t know like the back of his hand. He already missed them. Almost
as much as he already missed Louis.

Harry was leaving. He still had a vague hope that Louis could get in at Manchester, but it was
fading rapidly. By now, they had to have decided if they were taking on more non-academy
players. However, there were also other academies than Manchester, and Harry was certain other
clubs could want Louis if he just tried to approach them. Coach could help him.

Every day, Harry considered it as if it were his own life, but it wasn’t. It was Louis’. And no matter
what happened to his football career, Harry was still leaving. He was going to Manchester.
Picturing it, leaving Doncaster behind and finally running away from the things that no longer
existed — Jasmine’s threats, an enemy of a co-captain, his family — he already knew there was
only one thing he’d regret.

Three days after the match, he was leaning against the hood of the Range Rover in the parking lot.
By his side stood Zayn and Liam, both smoking and mumbling quietly. Liam was planning to take
a gap year after school, perhaps to work, meanwhile, Zayn would find out in a few weeks’ time
where he’d get accepted. He wanted to study film, which Harry knew was a perfect fit for him.

“Did Louis say anything about uni?” Harry asked Liam. Maybe he could study something cool.

“Nah.”

Zayn frowned. “Why doesn’t he try any local clubs? A lower league, or something?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. He never knew what Louis was thinking. He never knew, and yet
sometimes he did. He knew that he was hurting right now.

“When are you leaving?” asked Liam.

“I think pre-season starts at the end of July. By then, I guess.”

Liam smiled, but it faded. “Can’t believe you’re gonna’ be at United, mate. Have you told Louis?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing to say.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Liam raised a brow.

“Tell him what?”

Zayn snorted. Harry shoved him in the arm. He recoiled, but pulled his shades down enough to
give him a look. “That you love him, you twat.”

“I think he knows that.”

Liam scoffed. “Like you know that he loves you?”

Harry squinted at him, but Liam sighed and his eyes slipped to Zayn. The two of them looked at
each other for a long, conspicuous moment. Liam’s lips pulled into a straight line, and Zayn’s
frown deepened.

“Harry…”

He watched them back in confusion. “What?”

Liam placed his hands on the top of the hood, palms splayed across the black expanse. “Enough is
enough.”

“We know you’ve been through it — we know that. You’ve had a lot to deal with lately, and that
can’t have been easy handling, but… enough is enough.”

“You can’t do this to yourself anymore.”

“Do what?” he asked, brows knitted.

“Wallow in this absolute misery! It’s consuming you.”

“I’m not —” The simultaneous looks on their faces silenced him.

“Look,” Zayn said, “at this point, you need to get it over with. Have the conversation.”

“I just…”

“Harry,” he said sternly. “If that fucking party with Jasmine hadn’t happened, where would you
two be right now?”

He swallowed. “Together.”

Yes. They would have been together, and maybe then Manchester wouldn’t have come between
them so jaggedly.

“And if you wouldn’t have talked to him about the kiss on the pitch, then he would have talked to
you.”

“How do you know that, Li?”

“He tried at footie practice, right?”

Harry stared at him. “What? When?”

“At footie practice, a while after the party? I saw it. I was drinking water, he walked up to you,
looking fucking scared, and then you totally ignored him. He just about crawled off, as if you’d
stabbed him.” Liam’s voice had turned harder, and Harry’s eyes danced over his face as though
he’d never seen him before.

He’d forgotten. With everything that had happened, he’d fucking forgotten about that moment.
Had Louis actually wanted to talk that day? Had it not been about football at all? That moment,
when Harry had been preoccupied thinking he’d ruined Louis’ life, accepting Manchester. What if
he’d just answered? What if his head hadn’t been filled up with so many mashed-up feelings?
What if they would have been together by now?

Harry pressed the bottoms of his palms to the undersides of his eyebrows. The dark pressure felt
good. Nothingness seemed to feel better than the cluster inside his body.

Harry felt Zayn’s fingers squeezing around his upper arm. “If you need us, we’ll come with you. I
can wait in the car around the corner. You won’t be alone.”

He shook his head. The thought of standing in front of Louis, laying it all out, baring his insides…
It was daunting.

Liam’s voice was gentle. “You need to talk to him, Harry. He loves you, but you won’t believe it
until he says it. You love him, but he probably won’t believe it until you tell him. So, just… do it.
You’ll regret it otherwise.”

He would regret it. He already knew that.

It would eat him alive if he didn’t.

Louis wasn’t easy. He was difficult, hard-to-read, stubborn, and shelled-up, and yet somehow
Harry knew that all of that was only the exterior. On the inside he was soft. Behind that façade,
Louis was warm and gentle. He’d allowed Harry to make a home out of his bed. He’d allowed him
to get used to sheets scented with fruits. He’d let him use strawberry shampoo for months, drink
cinnamon-and-apple tea and eat avocado toast in the morning, and have leftover pizza on late
Saturday mornings in his room. He’d let him fall in love with his smell, with his fringe that always
dipped into his blue eyes, and the fine hairs below his belly button. He’d let Harry fall in love with
him.

So, even though Louis was the scariest person in the world at that moment, he was also the gentlest
when he wanted to be. Harry knew that whatever Louis felt towards him, he would never
intentionally hurt him. Not now. After all that they’d been through. He would never stand there,
hear the words and discard them with hurtful words. If he didn’t feel the same, then he’d be sorry.
He’d break Harry’s heart, but he’d still be gentle.

Harry removed his hands and looked back at his two best friends with both love and apprehension.
“I know,” he said. “I know. I’m going to tell him.”

It was a Thursday evening in May. It was kind of late, but still warm. It wasn’t dark yet, but any
time that hour the sun would be setting. Harry hadn’t seen Louis since the match.

Walking up to his house, he felt a weird sense of relief. He didn’t know if his body had been
conditioned to feel it; arriving at Louis’ place had been a reward made of comfort for months on
end. Still, this time, he knew the feeling wouldn’t last long.

He tried to steel himself, and prepare for every outcome. Even if Louis didn’t reciprocate his
feelings, he would at least know. If Louis never found out, all that Harry had felt over the last year
would’ve been for nothing, and Harry refused to believe all that pain had no meaning. More
importantly, Louis would know how much Harry actually was in his corner, and how much all of
his warm gestures meant to him.

It meant the world. What Louis had given him was the greatest gift anyone would ever be able to
give.

Nearing the house, Harry reminded himself of Louis’ asking eyes in the bathroom of the pizza
parlour when he’d blatantly begged Harry to tell him what was happening. He had been confused.
At the very least, Harry knew his own side of what had happened. He had to be honest, tell him the
truth. He had to say it to his face and see it sink into his head.

Liam was right. Harry couldn’t bear the thought of Louis never knowing how much he loved him.
He couldn’t leave Doncaster without telling him, and without hearing his response. It would tear
him to pieces, not knowing Louis’ complete and whole truth.

Arriving, knowing what was about to happen, felt nearly as good as it was nerve-wracking. It was
frightening, but Harry needed this. He had wondered for too long. Everything had hurt for too long.

He stopped on the pavement and didn’t walk up to the porch. It felt weird to see the house from a
distance, knowing he’d spent so much time there, but also knowing he might never set foot in it
again. It felt like the end of something sweet. He wretchedly hoped it wasn’t.

Louis sat on the porch, just like he’d expected him to come. His knees were pulled to his chest, and
his hands were resting in his caramel hair. The light was on inside, but out there, there was only
looming darkness, faded lamplight, and Harry and Louis.

“Hi,” said Harry.

It wasn’t loud, but enough for Louis to pick his head up. Harry’s heart began pounding as he met
his gaze across the distance. His cheeks felt weirdly warm. He never really blushed, but if he was
going to, then this moment seemed fitting. Louis wore sweats and a t-shirt. He looked pretty —
beautiful — but very, very sad. The image felt deeply discomforting.

“Gotta’ admit my timing’s good.” Harry squeezed the words out, aiming for casual. He couldn’t
bear the pain in Louis’ eyes.

“Not really,” he replied, and his voice was low, the corners of his mouth already pointing down in
small, sombre arcs.

Harry forced himself to keep going. “Maybe not then.” He shrugged, even though the moment was
nothing close to laidback. His heart thrummed painfully. Louis watched him for a second before he
finally mustered up a tiny smile, but it wasn’t happy. It was a stretch of muscles.

Harry inhaled, but his breath shook. He had to do this. He’d be better off afterward. In a few
minutes, they might be in each other’s arms. Fuck. Why was it so hard to speak?

He reeled in all the courage he had, and began slowly. He wondered if Louis could hear the
tremors in his voice as he spoke of a moment he’d considered about a million times. “Remember
how you said that you trusted yourself with me? I know that you’ve been trying to talk to me
about… us? I’m sorry that I haven’t been very… erm, accommodating. Just… sorry.”

Louis said nothing. He didn’t respond. Nothing in his motions made it clear whether Harry was
right, or not. Harry stood there awkwardly, looking down at his feet, trying to force himself to go
on. It was extremely hard when Louis didn’t say a word.
He spoke to the top of his shoes. “Well, you said that you trusted yourself with me, and it sounded
like you thought you couldn’t anymore? And I guess what I’m trying to say is…” He looked up,
meeting Louis’ stare. “You can?”

Louis pressed his eyes shut. He looked bothered. Harry didn’t know what it meant, and it killed
him.

“Why?” asked Louis when he opened his eyes again. “Why did you just go away after the semi-
final?”

Harry frowned. He had gone away he supposed, but so had Louis. He’d not made any of it easy.

Harry retained himself. He was here to explain, not fight. He wasn’t going to pick at everything
that Louis had done to make the situation worse; he was going to get to the point of all this. The
real issue.

His voice was nearly a whisper. “Because… you looked at me like that, and I was scared that you
didn’t mean it afterwards. You acted so strange, and I was scared to take the first step. I was
surprised, I mean, wouldn’t you be? If I kissed you in front of everyone?”

“Nobody saw.”

“Ed saw.”

Louis exhaled, like it came as a surprise to him. “Oh.”

Harry didn’t feel good. He felt so nervous, he was nauseous. It was starting to really settle,
knowing what he was soon going to arrive at.
“I waited for you to make the first move and then you didn’t, so I thought you regretted it. And
then I couldn’t make the first move, and the longer you stayed away the less courage I had to go
back to you.”
The words sounded bleak. They were hardly a fair representation of the tumultuous weeks that had
barely even come to an end.
Louis visibly swallowed. He still sat on the porch, but his eyes… blue and… They suddenly
looked wet. His lip shook, and then he said, “I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

Harry couldn’t move. He stood petrified. Louis thought… Harry didn’t love him? It was fucking
outrageous.

His whole body was a rocking sea as he whispered, “I do.”

His exterior was fighting crashing waves of fright and warmth on the inside. Fright of
misinterpreting Louis’ words for apparently the millionth of times, but the warmth… It was
winning. It started at his toes and crawled upwards. Louis Tomlinson thought that Harry didn’t feel
the same. Harry hadn’t even said the words, and here Louis was… saying it.

Louis was in love with him, too. He loved Harry. Just like Harry loved him.

He wanted to laugh and give in to the warmth completely, but the expression on Louis’ face
stopped him. He didn’t look happy. His gorgeous, blue eyes were full of tears.

“You’re leaving.”

Harry felt an overwhelming sense of panic start to build in the middle of his gut. He had barely had
time to appreciate and rejoice at the fact that Louis loved him back, because there was clearly
something wrong. There was a but to the love. It wasn’t unconditional. Harry could see it. Feel it.

He took a small step forward, and though he wanted to be strong, his voice came out cracked and
scared. “We can work it through, yeah?” He wanted to reach out and hold him, but he ceased to
move when he saw the small shake of Louis’ head. He’d clasped a hand over his mouth, as though
he was holding in the urge to vomit. “What?” Harry begged. Louis.

“Can’t,” he forced out through a clenched jaw.

Harry’s mind wiped clear. The bliss of knowing Louis loved him was gone. “What?” he whispered,
shaken.

Louis looked genuinely broken. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It won’t work.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Please.

“Louis,” he implored, panic and anguish tearing him apart. “Please. Trust me. Trust that this can
work.”

“It’s not about us, it’s about the fact that you’ll be gone.”

“But —”

Louis interrupted him with a loud yell. “Harry!”

He couldn’t do this. Harry couldn’t know that Louis loved him, but still didn’t want to be with him.
He could accept it if Louis didn’t love him, but he did. He loved him and he wanted to be with him,
but the problem was… Manchester. Football.

There were things I wanted and I could already see you standing in the way —

No, fuck that. It wasn’t that.

This was the worst possible outcome Harry could have imagined, and it burned. He hated it. He
also hated that this wasn’t about Harry going to the Manchester academy. It was about Louis, and
that he was succumbing to his fear of the future.

It hurt. It was worse than watching Jasmine kiss him.

Harry didn’t hold back this time.

“Take off your fucking seatbelt for once, Louis.”

Louis stared back, his face suddenly tinted with anger. Harry scowled back, refusing to back down.
His hands clenched at his sides. Louis couldn’t give up. He couldn’t. Harry couldn’t move on,
knowing that the love of his life was the reason he couldn’t be with the love of his fucking life.

Louis didn’t avert his angered gaze, and staring into those beautiful eyes was like staring at hell
and heaven at the same time. Loving him was painful.

Louis closed his eyes, and Harry was glad. Those eyes would haunt him. He knew it.

Louis sighed — a horrible sound. He covered his face with his hands and inhaled and exhaled like
Harry did when he needed a moment to calm the hell down. “I can’t.”
No. Harry couldn’t let him do this. He couldn’t leave it like this with Louis. He just couldn’t.

“Louis, you can’t give up now!”

“You’re leaving!” Louis burst out loudly. He looked up at Harry through tears. “For years.”

Harry knew it could be a long time, but what did it matter? If Louis came with him. Or if Louis
found his own team. They’d both be travelling. They’d both be busy.

“So what?” he said. He took another step closer. He didn’t care. All he cared about was them. As
long as they were together, everything else would be a sideshow. “We feel the same!”

“But you’ll be gone! I’ll be here. It won’t work.”

“You won’t know, Louis, if you don’t fucking try!”

“It doesn’t matter, Harry,” he said slowly, absolutely tearing him to shreds. “It won’t matter in the
end, because you’ll still be breaking my heart every moment you’re away.”

Harry felt empty. Like there was nothing left he could say. Louis loved him, but he didn’t believe
in them. He didn’t think they could make it. What else could Harry say?

The only thing he could. The thing he came there to say.

He whispered it, tears falling down his cheeks in heavy turns. His shoulders shook, and his chest
ached in torment.

“What?” asked Louis wiping at his own eyes, movements full of frustration.

“I love you.”

Louis closed his eyes again. Like he couldn’t stand watching Harry. Like he couldn’t bear the pain
of hearing the words. Tears slid down through his closed eyes, tangling in his long lashes.

“Harry,” he said, his name gentle on his lips. His voice was soft, careful. Just like Harry fucking
knew it would be.

If he’d break his heart, he’d be gentle.

“It won’t work. Not because I’m being cynical, but because you’re the only one I’ve ever loved
like this, and I can’t stand the thought of missing you every single day.”

He was saying he loved him. Clearly and unequivocally.

He was also breaking Harry’s heart.

Silence enveloped them for long minutes where Harry wondered if this was truly it.

“Is that your answer then?” he asked, voice strained.

Louis’ lips pressed together, face pointing down like he didn’t want to see Harry’s face. It took
minutes before he finally looked at him. His eyes were blue. Harry couldn’t believe that they
weren’t going to end up together.

He whispered, “I would rather fight with you, than love anybody else.”
Louis covered his face with his hands. Harry was looking at a canvas of nothing. The tears broke
his voice, and he knew it was over. He knew it was done. No matter what he said, Louis refused to
believe in them. He refused to believe they could work out. He didn’t believe. Period.

Harry didn’t hate him; he hated how he made him feel. Loving someone who was an unbeliever in
the most honest of senses was a fucking bloodsport.

Rejection, anger, and hurt made him open his mouth for the last time.

“So, what would you have done then? If you got into Manchester and I didn’t? Would you still
give up on me then, or are you just bitter?”

Louis stared at nothing. His mouth fell open. He said… nothing.

Harry stood there, internally begging the boy he loved to love him enough to push his fear and
pride aside.

For nothing. He’d loved Louis and all his flaws and strengths for nothing.

Because Louis said nothing.

And everything fucking hurt, all the fucking time.

Harry spent the weekend at Zayn’s house. In his room. He hardly left it.

Walking away from Louis was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

His legs had taken him around the corner of Louis’ block where he’d opened the door to Liam’s
grey MINI Cooper and sat down in the backseat. There, he’d crossed his arms over his face and
pressed it to his knees. His friends, sitting in the front, had understood.

Zayn brought him food, put on movies, and offered weed. Liam came over and played video games
while Harry stared, eyes following the motions on the screen without registering what was actually
happening.

“You’ll be okay, eventually,” Zayn promised.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to not love him anymore.”

“It’s going to take some time.”

Harry didn’t want it to take time. He couldn’t handle knowing that Louis loved him back, but
refused to have a relationship with him. Louis pushed things away before he could lose them. Even
him.

For Harry it was different. If he’d have to stay in Doncaster when Louis was going to leave, then
he’d still want him. He’d want him in any way he could, and if Louis came back tomorrow,
changing his mind, Harry would take him back so quickly. Even though he knew he had issues
trusting the future. Even though he was an unbeliever. They’d always fought against each other, but
fighting side by side, on the same team, Harry knew they’d win. Easily. It was only getting Louis
to realise it that was the difficult part.

Perhaps Louis simply disagreed.

Harry stared at the video games, felt Liam’s supportive hand on his leg once in a while, and
decided he wasn’t going to cry anymore. He was too emotional. Had been since a kid… Still,
burning tears slid out the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut against the pillow. He felt
Zayn’s kiss on his head and his careful rub at his upper arm, but he didn’t feel better. Not at all.

It was going to take time.

It was hard to get out of bed and go to school. It was the last football practice with the team that
day, though, and he had to be there. He wanted to be there, to say goodbye to his lads, and have one
last hour with Coach Abrahams as his football coach. He was going to miss them too much.

He knew Louis was going to be there. Facing him again wouldn’t be easy, but Zayn said maybe he
could find some closure in it.

He dressed in black jeans and a loose t-shirt. He put sunshades over his red-edged eyes. It was
warm out; May brought sun and tepid wind.

At school, Zayn remained by his side almost the whole day. Since the final exams had passed,
classes felt pointless. Harry was only there because Zayn told him not to stay in bed.

That morning, he considered dropping Manchester. He would be able to stay in Doncaster with
Louis. They could be happy together. Still, the consideration was feeble. He knew that he couldn’t
give up his dreams for a guy. It wasn’t fair, not to him and not to Louis.

It wasn’t a question for a nineteen-year-old to face — choosing between love and a lifelong dream.
It was a choice for adults. And in the end, he had to make the adult decision. Just like his parents.
The only true choice was doing what was right for you. It just didn’t seem fair. The world wasn’t
fair. For a second, he’d had Louis, but not really. Not truly.

The whole day he dreaded football training just as much as he looked forward to it. Walking to the
locker room, bag strapped across his chest, he felt torn. He’d probably not make this walk again,
and though he relished in the feeling of it, he also couldn’t help despising it.

“Hi, Harry.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. His hand clutched at his heart, fingers gripping the strap across
his chest. In front of him stood Jasmine. She wore blue jeans and a white t-shirt, and her hair was
straight, stopping below her shoulders. Her brown eyes were lined with short wings. She looked
nervous.

Even though she hadn’t talked to him in person in months, he still felt his throat dry up.

“Jas,” he said hoarsely.

“I know you hate me, but can we talk?” she pleaded.

“I can’t right now.”

She looked at him with placating hands in the air. “I just want to apologise. Talk things through.”

Harry swallowed. His pulse was fast, but he didn’t feel any urge to vomit. He braced himself. “Jas,
I’m not ready to talk yet.”

She watched him, wrinkles between her brows prominent. “Why?” she whispered.
Harry’s breath shook a little. “You hurt me and — I know I hurt you, too — and I know you’re
ready to move on, but I’m not. I’m not ready to have this conversation. Not now. Not right now.
Please.”

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay,” she said quietly, and her eyes seemed to glisten. “I’m sorry.”

Harry nodded, quickly glancing away from her eyes. She turned and walked away swiftly, and
Harry did, too. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to brush off the sudden emotions. He didn’t
need this now, because he already had other things to worry about. He had to take one thing at a
time. He had to get over Louis first. Then, maybe her.

He was glad she had found it in her to walk away. Someday, perhaps, he could actually manage to
have that inevitable conversation.

He walked into the building, moving to his locker in practiced movements. He changed into shorts
and his red training jersey, pulled on his socks, and slid his shin pads in underneath. He slipped his
footie boots on and tied them. He let his hair remain as it was, curly and reaching below his jaw.
Maybe he’d cut it soon. A new start, maybe.

When Louis entered the locker room, Harry tried not to look at him. He didn’t want to feel the
overwhelming sense of rejection double. Looking the guy he loved in the eye, knowing he knew
how he felt but didn’t want the same thing, was too hard.

“I hear you’re going to United, mate,” Harry heard someone say. He looked up, finding Stan of all
people by his side. The guy sat down next to him on the bench. “That’s sick.”

“Thanks, mate.” Harry didn’t always like Stan, but today he couldn’t dislike any of his teammates.
They were a family, of sorts.

“When’s pre-season?”

“July, I think.”

“Cool. Say hello to the theatre of dreams from me. You should have us come watch you play.”

“You know the youth team doesn’t play at Old Trafford a lot, right?” Harry said.

Stan grinned. “I know, but I feel you’re gonna’ get on the big squad eventually. Congratulations.”
He clapped him on the shoulder.

Harry smiled, trying not to hate the feeling of change so much. “Thank you.”

Stan patted him on the chest briefly. “Don’t forget us, babe.”

Harry chuckled. He wouldn’t forget them even if he tried. He looked away from Stan, and his eyes
instantly crossed paths with Louis’.

He dropped his gaze quickly, unable to look at him. He couldn’t. Louis didn’t want him. Even
though he said it was because he loved Harry too much, it still felt like the opposite. He didn’t
want him, and that feeling of pain wasn’t going to disappear. It was going to take some time, Zayn
had said. Harry would never forget him.

“I’ll try not to,” he mustered and stood. He walked out of the locker room, unable to look back.
Louis’ face burned in his mind all the way to the pitch anyway. Louis was dressed in Donny red,
socks and shoes on, and his hair was that beautiful colour of dark caramel. His eyes had… Harry
squeezed his eyes shut for an unbearable second. Louis had looked at him like he loved him. His
eyes — blue, blue, blue — were extremely gentle. Like he cared. Like he loved him.

Harry wasn’t getting over him until he left Doncaster. Maybe not even then. Not ever.

He strode up to the rest of the boys, who had gathered at the corner of the pitch. They were
stretching lazily, knowing the session ahead would be only for fun. Harry wondered how he’d get
through it, having to look at Louis Tomlinson and know that they’d never have each other again.
Know he’d never get to touch him, kiss him, breathe in his wonderful scent of grass and sweat,
know he’d never get to lie in his bed surrounded by white fluffy pillows washed with green apple
and strawberry softener. He couldn’t bear it.

He wanted him back. He needed him back.

He’d fucking beg to have him. He knew that at least once before he left Doncaster, he’d be on his
knees begging Louis to take him back.

“Styles!”

A hot flash of déjà vu crashed over him. His heart sank.

How many times hadn’t he heard that same voice yell at him, ready to brawl? Was Louis really
going to cause a fight right now? Was he really going to prove how much he didn’t want Harry
anymore? He simply had to crush him further. It wasn’t enough to just say no. He had to make sure
Harry knew they were never going to have each other’s back again. After today, they weren’t
going to be on the same team.

Harry looked up. His name, so hard and fierce on Louis’ tongue, rang uncomfortably through him.
Harry wouldn’t be able to fight him. Not again. If Louis wanted to hurt him, then he’d just take it.
He was done fighting.

The boys around Harry stirred nervously as they watched Louis approach. His face was
determined, brows knitted firmly and hands closed in fists as he deliberately moved through the
small crowd of players. Harry stood still. Louis could destroy him if he wanted. He’d take it, even
if it’d shatter his heart into irreparable pieces.

Louis took three determined steps and launched at him. Harry stumbled in shock, ready for a fist to
his jaw.

It didn’t come. Louis wasn’t trying to hurt him. He jumped into his arms.

Harry caught him clumsily, unprepared, and deeply unsettled. Louis’ legs hooked behind Harry’s
back, and Harry could do nothing but grip his hips and stand up, forcing them not to fall to the
grass.

Louis’ eyes were resolute. His movements were full of purpose. As Harry stared, paralysed by
confusion and awe, Louis’ hands carded his curls back from his face. His voice was gritty, solemn,
and serious. He said, “Don’t think for a second that you’re ever getting rid of me, you dick.”

Harry barely had time to process the words, before Louis pressed his mouth to his.

Everything went white. Harry heard nothing, saw nothing. He only felt. He felt Louis’ firm thighs
around his waist, his gentle hands in his hair, his chest against his, the underside of his arms
pressing down on his shoulders — most of all he felt Louis’ lips. It was all he had wanted to feel
for weeks.
Louis was kissing him. In front of everyone. Louis was kissing him.

Louis let go, but his fingers stayed in Harry’s hair. His mouth brushed against his as he murmured,
“Don’t forget me, please.”

Harry shook his head, throat sore, and mind at a loss at the moment unfolding. “Could never,” he
breathed, feeling Louis’ subsequent exhale on his lips. He looked down at Louis’ mouth, never
having felt such a painful tang of want. Louis closed the inch-wide gap between them, and Harry
could do nothing but kiss him.

He wouldn’t let go now. Never. His legs shook, but he’d never let Louis go. He’d hold him until
they folded on their own.

“Louis Tomlinson.” The booming voice was Coach Abrahams’. Louis stilled in Harry’s arms, and
Harry slowly came to. Louis was kissing him in front of their teammates. In front of Coach. In front
of everyone. He’d very publicly declared that Harry wasn’t getting rid of him.

Harry loved him.

Louis slid down from his arms, landing on the grass pitch, shinpads bumping Harry’s. “Yes,” he
said, voice hoarse. “Did I do something?” he asked.

Harry’s hands closed around the jersey at Louis’ waist, refusing to let him go. His chest pressed
against his back as he looked up to see Coach’s face. The man, a hero in Harry’s eyes, shook his
head, rolling his eyes. “No, you just gave everyone a show of that. But that’s not what I was going
to talk to you about.”

“Oh.”

Harry pressed closer to Louis, face tilting down into his hair. He’d never let him go now. Never.

He was breathless. His heart still beat from the kiss, but he couldn’t look at anyone around them.
He didn’t care about what any of them thought. He was never letting Louis go again. Never. He
grasped desperately for Louis’ hand behind his back.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” asked Louis. Harry didn’t care. He needed Louis to turn
around and touch him again. His hair smelled like strawberry shampoo. His skin smelled like
grass.

Harry didn’t look up until Coach was standing in front of them. He looked happy — proud even.
Harry inhaled another breath of Louis, watching Coach grin with utter satisfaction as he spoke. “I
received a call from Gary Cooper up at Manchester.”

Harry stilled.

Louis stilled.

“They finished their discussions this morning, and they thought you’d like to know you’re going to
be offered a place at their football academy.”

Harry felt Louis’ body melt against his, and he latched his arm around him quickly.

Coach continued, “They said something about winning a scoring league and coming second in the
championship is rather impressive.”
Louis’ voice was broken. “Are you lying to me, Abe?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“Oh, my God.” Louis leaned back heavily against Harry, who was having trouble believing his
ears. “I got in?” Louis whispered, shaking.

Coach nodded, looking genuinely happy. “You got in.”

“I got in.”

Harry couldn’t hold himself back. He buried his face in Louis’ neck, hugging him so tightly he
didn’t care if it was painful. Harry pressed his mouth to Louis’ skin, unable to get close enough.
He kissed his ear, the line of his jaw, the junction at his throat over the jersey… He could hear
their teammates moving around them, congratulating Louis, but he couldn’t let him go. Never.

“I love you,” he moaned against Louis’ temple.

“I love you,” Louis replied instantly, breathless against Harry’s chest. “I do. I love you so much.”

“I can’t believe this is real. I thought you didn’t want,” he groaned, heart squeezing.

“I want. I want, I promise.”

Harry exhaled. He felt like his whole body was relieved of air. Louis wanted him. He wanted them.
Harry pressed his lips to Louis’ neck, as close as he could get. Louis untangled himself from
Harry’s hard grip and turned around. His fingers grasped hold of Harry’s jersey. He looked up at
him, brows knitted and eyes serious. “I’m sorry for —”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he insisted. His voice was severe. “I was bitter, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I know
I want this, even if I hadn’t just found out that… We’re going to Manchester together,” he
whispered, eyes wide and blue. “Can you believe that?”

Harry’s face hurt from smiling. He had never felt like this before. “You came to your senses,” he
said quietly. “Finally.” A laugh full of disbelief slipped out. He couldn’t fathom it. Louis believed
in them. Why-how-when tumbled through his mind, but in the end, he just didn’t care.

Louis’ face broke into the most gorgeous, heart-wrenchingly handsome smile that Harry had ever
witnessed. His eyes crinkled at the corners before he leaned in and pressed his face to Harry’s
chest. “Let’s be clear here, Styles,” he hummed against his chest, breath warm and reverberating
against him. “I still hate you, and you’re still my antagonist.”

Harry shook his head, eyes closed against the top of Louis’ head as he hugged him. “That’s okay.
As long as you love me, too.”

“What a fantastic book.” He leaned up, making Harry meet his eyes. “You’ll be glad to hear I love
you very dearly.”

Harry laughed, but his heart had never been so full. “Aren’t you the next Oscar Wilde,” he snorted.

Louis squinted. “I cannot believe you ruined that moment for me.”

Harry licked his lip, voice warm as he said, “Are we really going to fight?”
“I suppose we’ve fought enough for now.”

Harry inhaled, his body finally beginning to catch up with the last few minutes. Their teammates
were staring at them, confused, and chuckling embarrassedly at the obvious display of affection
between their co-captains. Liam was smiling the hardest, gloved hands clutched at his chest. Harry
wanted to roll his eyes, but his focus never strayed from Louis for too long. He glanced back down
at him and squeezed his body closer. They swayed softly as Harry smiled with pure happiness.

“So, you have a crush on me, eh?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You had a crush on me first. Or did you not?”

Probably.

Obviously.

Of course.

“You’ll never know, baby.”

Walking up to the porch, Harry’s hands were in Louis’ hair. His Range Rover was parked
carelessly against the curb, Louis’ fringe was still wet from the locker room shower, and Harry
hadn’t stopped kissing him since he jumped into his arms at practice an hour and a half earlier.

Louis gripped at his waist, tugging his hips closer as he steered them up the porch. Harry wasn’t
looking. His eyes were closed, and his body was lost in the feeling of Louis. His Louis. His.

Louis let him go just enough to unlock the door and walk inside, meanwhile, Harry inhaled twice
before he wrapped his arms around Louis’ neck and pressed him into the wall next to the door. His
stomach and chest were firm against him, and his shoulders were muscular and tense as he pushed
against Harry’s body. His hands sank down the back of his jeans.

“Oh, my God.”

They stopped. Harry slowly turned his head to the left, and found Lottie Tomlinson staring at them,
hands clasped in front of her mouth. Louis’ breath landed on Harry’s chin, his hands still on him.
She was standing at the kitchen entrance, her blonde, long hair in a bun at the top of her head, eyes
wide and shocked.

Then Lottie inhaled, raised her arms in the air, and screamed a loud and ringing, “Yeeees!”

Harry was laughing before he could hold it in. Louis extracted himself from Harry’s body, shaking
his head and rolling his eyes as his sister jumped up and down, hugging and pulling at him, still
screaming. She wrapped her arms around Harry after Louis had pushed her off. She smelled like
perfume, and her hair bobbed against his nose.

“Oh, my Gosh. I can’t believe you’re back together. Finally! Oh, fuck yes. And tomorrow we can
have tea before school again! Oh, my God. We can do waffles! Oh, yeah, I got this new apple-
cinnamon tea with vanilla flavour. You’re gonna’ love it —”

Harry chuckled at her enthusiasm and concurrently realised that he had missed her, too. He hadn’t
known how much their mornings meant to her. It made his heart swell, knowing that she cared that
much.
“You guys are too much,” said Louis, arms crossed, shaking his head.

“Fuck off, Lou. Can’t believe you kept me apart from Niall and Harry. Twat!”

Harry continued laughing, and Louis manhandled his sister towards the kitchen. She grimaced at
him in displeasure, but nonetheless allowed Louis to push her into the next room, before he
grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him upstairs.

“I’m so glad you guys are back together! I can’t believe you thought you’d be able to be apart for
real.”

Harry caught a glimpse of her giant grin before she disappeared.

“Don’t mind her. She’s crazy,” muttered Louis as they headed up.

“She’s lovely,” disagreed Harry.

Walking into the room, Louis immediately pulled Harry onto the bed, on top of himself. Louis was
warm and firm beneath him. Harry, with his left leg between Louis’, chest pressed into his side, let
his fingers touch his cheek. His skin was slightly tan and smooth, and his lashes were very long as
he stared up at Harry’s face.

“I want you,” murmured Louis.

“I love you so much,” breathed Harry, instantly pushing their mouths together. Before, on the
pitch, things had happened so quickly. In there, in the bedroom, on their own turf, Harry only
wanted to slow down time. He kissed Louis with fierce desire and languid passion, and his skin
seemed to burn and shiver simultaneously at every little touch from Louis’ fingers.

His hands were tightly squeezing, urgent, but still knew by muscle memory how Harry liked them
on himself. He liked when they were deliberate, when they knew what they wanted, and touched
Harry in intimate places. They were best paired with Louis’ lips murmuring things in his ear that
he’d never heard them say before.

“I love you,” he heard Louis groan against the skin right below his ear, and his heart nearly
stopped. Hearing him say it, moaning it into his skin while his fingers pressed into his jeans…
Harry had never felt something like it. It felt like… everything he had ever wanted throughout his
entire life.

Harry’s breathing was ragged and shaking, but he didn’t care. He was quivering, as though feeling
Louis against himself for the first time ever. “Say it again,” he whispered.

“I love you,” Louis murmured, and Harry moaned at the sound of it. Louis’ fringe was tickling his
forehead, and teeth were biting Harry’s lips as he pressed their hips into each other’s. Harry
exhaled at the touch. It felt excruciatingly good, like his whole body was being wrought free of
pain and anguish. Touching Louis, it was on its way out. Perhaps it wouldn’t move quickly, but
being held in Louis’ arms, it felt like some of it was dispersing.

Louis pressed Harry’s jeans down, and Harry’s palms slid up under Louis’ shirt. His torso
convulsed under his hands as he moved, but Harry felt his heart beating in heavy, heavy strokes.

Palm flat across Louis’ chest, Harry paused. Louis noticed, and looked up at him through his
fringe. “What, love?”

Harry’s breath shook as he said the words that he’d wanted to say for what felt like years. Maybe
since he was fifteen. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?”

Louis looked back at him, quiet for a moment, as though the words sounded foreign to him. He
hadn’t expected them. His eyes grazed over Harry’s face for a long moment. “You say that like you
actually believe it.”

Harry blinked. “I do. Have you seen yourself? You’re…” He almost didn’t have words for it
anymore. It was like he’d thought it all too many times. He’d described Louis in his head to a
fucking detail, and yet, looking him in the eyes, trying to say it aloud… Harry realised that it
wasn’t the eyes, the fringe, or his fantastically fit fucking body that made him so illuminating.
“Thank you,” he whispered.

He frowned. “For what?”

“For being in my corner when I needed you.”

Louis’ body was absolutely gentle when pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s lips. “You were in mine, too.
When I needed a friend, you were there.”

“Miserable together,” he breathed against his mouth.

“We had fun, too.” Louis pulled him closer. Resting atop the bed, Harry’s back was full of
goosebumps where his shirt had ridden up. Louis’ hands smoothed them over, warming him all
over. He felt it in his toes.

“When we were drunk,” murmured Harry, and kissed Louis’ mouth. Louis deepened the kiss, and
for a few minutes, there were no words. The bed pulled them down, and Harry melted as far into it
as he did into Louis.

“You looked so good that night,” Louis moaned. “All dressed up. Never seen you so fucking fit.
You looked like…” He didn’t finish. Instead, he clutched Harry’s wrist and pressed his palm
downwards, to his crotch. Harry felt him hard and straining against his jeans.

Harry couldn’t deny it. Hearing him say those words, how Harry made him feel… “I want you.”
His lips found their way to Louis’ neck.

“Off,” was all he heard him say before he lost himself completely in the smell of him.

Lottie didn’t bother them the whole afternoon. Harry spent hours kissing Louis, revelling in his
presence. Even after they’d gotten each other off, he still couldn’t stop touching him. He felt over
Louis’ chest, ran his fingers over his stomach, kissed his collar bones, and pressed his nose into the
curve of his shoulder. He let his mouth trace his neck, kissing wet marks into his skin, and while
he did that, Louis stared at his body with unabashed, mesmerised, blue eyes.

It took hours, and they still didn’t stop. Their shirts were discarded on the floor, and the white
duvet was pulled over their heads and wrapped them inside their own little cocoon.

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” whispered Harry. His head was on the white, fluffiest pillow,
and Louis rested just inches from him. His fingers traced Louis’ collarbones, and Louis’ eyes were
trained on Harry’s mouth. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me, neither.”

“I love you,” Harry frowned. His eyes moved to Louis’ pulse point, feeling his chest rise and fall
under his arm.
“Harry, you’ve got no idea how fucking crazy you make me feel. You’re this… enigma. You’re
wonderful. I love you.”

Harry inhaled at the words, chest tightening every time he heard them. “Really?”

“Yes.”

He swallowed. “Then… why’d you let her kiss you?”

Louis’ face shaped into a frown. “Kiss me?”

“Jasmine. At the party. She kissed your face. Right there.” Harry briefly touched the spot at the
corner of Louis’ mouth.

Louis looked down, but his fingers grasped a tight hold of Harry’s. “I’m sorry, Haz. I was
heartbroken because you didn’t kiss me back when I kissed you at the match. I was so drunk I
barely knew who was around me. Stan kept trying to get me to hook up with someone. I didn’t
want to. It was just unfortunate she was there when Stan kept asking people to… snog me.”

“It felt like…” Pain. Purely. He didn’t have words for it.

Louis shook his head, face tormented. “I’m sorry.”

“You looked at me,” he whispered. “Like, you knew it would hurt me.”

He shook his head firmly. “It wasn’t my intention. I just wanted you to walk over and save me
from them. I wanted you back.”

Harry met his eyes. His breath shook, but Louis’ warm hands were comforting. His bed was
comforting. Yet, “I just need to know one thing. What happened in that bedroom? You and her. I
need you to be honest.”

Louis moved closer, lifting his right hand to let his fingers slide into the hair at the nape of Harry’s
neck, the touch light and sweet. His nose grazed Harry’s, and their lips just about brushed as he
spoke. Harry felt nervous, but sure he had to hear it.

“She showed us to some room,” he murmured. “Liam helped me out of my disgusting t-shirt after I
vomited for like ten minutes straight. He put me in bed. When he left, I asked her what happened
between the two of you. I didn’t know why you hated her so much, and it was confusing. I just
knew you dated, but…” His frown turned hard.

Harry shook his head, brows knitted deeply. “I never slept with her,” he whispered.

“I know, love.”

Harry pressed his nose into Louis’, needing his touch to feel secure. “Continue.”

“I know… because she told me what happened. Nothing of detail, just that she found out you were
gay because you wouldn’t sleep with her, and… What she did was horrible, Harry. I should have
listened to you from the start, but I had no clue.”

Louis knew.

He knew everything.

Harry didn’t know if he liked it or not, but it was nothing he had wanted to talk about. The feeling
of unintentionally revealing his sexuality, the humiliation, and the pain of hurting his best friend…
He didn’t want to talk about it, but he knew he would need to eventually. However, not with Louis.
With Jasmine. If he was to ever get over it, he needed to eventually talk it through with her.

Later. Not today. Today was for him and Louis only.

“Let’s not talk about her anymore,” he decided. “It’s just you and me now.”

Louis’ lip pulled a little, but he stopped smiling. “One more thing, Haz.” He looked uncomfortable,
and Harry immediately didn’t like the look of it. “I’m sorry about this. I was drunk and stupid, but
after we talked… I was drunk, and I didn’t want to sleep alone. I’d become so used to you — your
warmth, your body next to mine, with your fucking crazy curls and smell all around me — that I
hated sleeping alone. I just couldn’t do it. She said no, and left. I slept alone.”

He felt displeasure painfully contracting within. “You asked her to stay?” he whispered, and
discomfort clutched his chest in a hard grasp.

“Haz, only to sleep, but I shouldn’t have asked. And when she said no, I was glad. I didn’t want to
hurt you. I was just confused.” He touched Harry’s jaw. “Hey, love. Haz.”

Harry met his eyes reluctantly, a tough wrinkle still between his brows. The tip of Louis’ nose
pressed against his. His lips nudged against Harry’s as he spoke.

“Baby…”

Baby.

Harry said that. That’s what he’d accidentally called Louis on multiple occasions. A word that
suited him perfectly. He was rugged, handsome, passionate, firm, soft, kind, infuriating… And
Harry’s.

Baby. Hearing the word on Louis’ lips sent a low, sizzling sense of yearning through his chest and
down his body.

Harry didn’t like the thought of Louis asking Jasmine to sleep in the same bed, but it hadn’t
actually happened. Louis regretted even asking her. And now he was here, with Harry, touching
him and kissing him, calling him baby.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered. His thumb pressed against his pulse and he felt it quiver
in strong, firm pounds. From now on, Louis was sleeping next to him.

Louis shook his head, eyes closed and forehead deeply creased. “Never.”

“You’re mine.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m yours.”

He opened his eyes. Blue. “You’re the only one that I have ever loved. You have no idea how
fucked up I’ve felt these last months. You’re everything to me, and the thought of you not loving
me nearly killed me.”

He couldn’t possibly get any closer to Louis’ body, yet he craved it. “I thought you still hated me.”

“I don’t think I’ve hated you since last year.”

 Harry exhaled, breathlessly whispering, “I don’t think I ever truly hated you.”

Louis’ lips pulled into a smirk. He grinned, gorgeous and so overwhelmingly charming. “See. I
knew it. You loved me first.”

Harry pressed his forehead against Louis’, nose fitting perfectly against his cheek, right next to his
nose. He inhaled, leaned back, and said, “I’d say you’ve made me an emotional wreck, but I think
I’ve always been a little emotional. You just made it worse.”

Louis chuckled. “Hopeless romantic, you are. Not a wreck.”

“I still think you’re cynical.”

He shrugged, mouth touching Harry’s briefly. “It doesn’t matter. If life doesn’t magically hand it
over like some fucking miracle… for us, I’ll steal it all myself.”

“I’m good with that. We can do it together.”

“Always.” He leaned in and kissed him, enveloping Harry fully and completely in him. Smelling
like grass and sweat and all.

Harry still had issues. He knew that. He knew that Louis had them, too. But he could live with
those if Louis could live with his. Love was difficult, but Harry knew despite how hard it had been,
or hard it might get in the future, that they would always fight for it.

Love was a bloodsport, but as long as they were on the same team they’d win.

End Notes

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