Unbelievers (NOT MY OG STORY)

Chapter 9

"Louis!" someone calls then, voice loud through the crowd of people. It's Stan, towing a group of people with him, Oli the only one Louis can make out in the moment.

Louis doesn't react, but suddenly Harry turns around, eyes skimming the crowd and then they're locked on him. Their gazes meet. Confusion tumbles over Louis, because Harry looks so unsure where he's standing. His eyes flicker, filled with uncertainty and apprehension. He looks awkward, shuffling on his feet, perhaps even shy. Louis can't look away.

Harry does, tearing his eyes from Louis quickly and turning back to his friends. His shoulders are still stiff, Louis can tell.

Stan and the rest settle down around him on the couch, Louis looking up to find Jasmine by his side. She smiles, and Louis tries not to display how uncomfortable he is.

"No need to look like you want to run away. I know you're not into me. I'm over it."

Louis swallows, trying to force away the inebriation from his bones. "Really?"

"Yes, silly. I know where I'm not wanted." She giggles prettily—maybe she's somewhat affected by the alcohol, too. Louis' eyes stay locked on her mouth, her lipstick color the only thing he can focus on now that Harry's not facing him anymore. The color is dark purple, matches her dark eye shadow and black blouse. She notices his gaze. "Are you okay, sweetie? Have you been drinking much?"

"Yes," he says, but he isn't sure to what he's answering. Her hand sifts into his hair, the touch oddly comforting as he tries to fight the alcohol in his system.

"Louis, honestly," Stan says, cooing, only partly sarcastic. "You're an adorable drunk." The boys laugh, and Louis would roll his eyes if he didn't currently lack of eye-coordination. If that's a thing.

"Somebody get him a kiss. He deserves one," someone else says. "He scored the goal and he looks so bloody miserable. Someone cheer him up." It's possibly Oli. Or Lee. Or anyone.

"I don't need one," Louis says, still trying to focus on the color of Jas' lipstick. He doesn't want to pass out.

"Everybody needs a kiss!" Stan proclaims. "Claire? Where's Claire? There you are! Kiss, please?"

Louis didn't know there was a Claire around. But, diner. He thinks of the diner.

Stan gets a kiss. The girl is seems rather adoring of him. Louis has a weak thought that he would applaud if he had the energy.

"Louis, now you go!"

"He's drunk, you fucking idiot," Jasmine chastises Stan, who isn't very sober either.

"On the cheek then."

Louis glances over at Harry's group. He wishes he would come and get him. He quietly hopes Harry will see how out of place he feels, walk over and rescue him. Harry probably wouldn't even do that if Louis hadn't kissed him. He would steer clear of Jasmine.

Louis continues to look at the other boy. As if by some miracle, Harry turns around and stares back at him. Once again their gazes meet, but this time Harry's eyes darken almost instantly. It confuses Louis at first, but then he feels the press of lips against his cheek. He's fairly sure it's Jasmine.

Louis wants to say something. He wants to stand, walk over to him and tell him he's the only one. One and only. For the moment he doesn't care that Harry didn't like that he kissed him on the footie pitch; he just wants to Harry to know he doesn't care about Jasmine. But Harry has turned around, and he's swiftly pacing away. He disappears down the stairs, Louis still able to see the way his eyes burned.

Maybe he's just drunk, but he suddenly doesn't understand. Why does Harry care that she kissed his cheek? He doesn't love Louis. He's not in love with him, he doesn't want Louis the way Louis wants him.