Bloodsport

chapter 25

"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.

"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.