Unbelievers

Chapter 2.6

Louis was seriously anxious about what people would say at school about the game. He was prepared for looks, people rolling their eyes and sighing in his presence, and even his teammates ignoring him. It's safe to say he was a bit worried, but as the school day on Monday passes by, it seems to have been for nothing. Nobody seems to hold even the slightest grudge against him, and his teammates seem all too wrapped up in talking about how fantastic the ending of the match was, and how Harry saved the game. To be honest, Louis greatly prefers that even if it isn't completely ideal.

And Louis has more to worry about, namely how the hell he's going to return Harry's clothes that are currently lying tucked into his bag. He's contemplated just putting them in his locker while the boys shower after footie practice, but it feels a bit perilous, and he doesn't really want to risk getting caught, because how would he ever manage to explain that?

He can't make up his mind, and that's why after second last period he's still got Harry's clothes in his bag, and is considering just throwing his shirt away or just put them on top of his other locker in hope he'll find them later. And that's what he doesn't understand either; why he so badly has to make sure Harry gets his shirt back. It's a bloody piece of fabric. And socks. Who the fuck cares?

That's how he decides. Who the fuck cares, it's a damn shirt. He's just going to walk straight up to Harry's locker and leave it there. He purposefully strides down the corridor, and steers into the hallway he knows Harry's locker is located in. Thankfully, the hall is relatively empty, most people on their way to classes, and Louis quickly follows the lane of red painted lockers until he reaches the one he knows belongs to Harry.

(Long story short: in freshman year Louis and Harry had a slight tendency of sending little death threats and hate notes to each other by sticking them in the other's locker.)

He can see a few girls down the hall making their way towards him, and he quickly digs through his bag, getting the shirt out and trying to find the damn socks as well. It takes a moment or two, and then someone is clearing their throat behind him just as his hand closes around the pair.

He slowly turns around, and of course. Of fucking course.

Harry is standing there. He's in this stupid, patterned button down, which is not even buttoned. Like barely. His hair is getting a bit long lately, and it's curling around his ears, and he's got this deep parting going on. His arms are crossed, one of his eyebrows arched upwards. He's staring at him expectantly, and he looks so damn stupid and posh that Louis merely even acknowledges Harry's friend – the artsy guy – that's standing next him.

Louis straightens up, and with vast dignity and head held up with pride places the pair of socks on top of Harry's shirt, and takes the two steps up to him. He keeps his chin up, pointedly not looking at him when he neatly presents the articles to him, holding them out. Louis can see Harry slowly reach out in his periphery, and the second he takes the clothes, Louis ready to stride away, intent on showing how unbothered, indifferent, and completely blasé he is about all of this.

His phone just happens to start ringing and he reacts in a fraction of a second, seeing as it's Greg from the fro-yo shop. He has to take this call immediately, his plan be damned.

"Shit," he accidentally says, earning a glance from Harry as he's struggling with his bag and getting the phone to his ear. "Fuck."

"Hi, Louis! You look great today!" a girl's voice says from beside him and he vaguely recognizes it, but is too preoccupied trying to accept Greg's call to look up.

"Hi, thanks," he says in a haste, finally tapping the green button. "Greg!"

"Louis! Mate! How are you? I've got the schedules worked out. How about you come over at four on Wednesday and I'll teach you everything I know."

Louis can almost see Greg's smirk in his head. "Sorry, man. I can't do afternoons. Weekends and nights only."

"Well, shit," Greg says. "You could have told me that."

"Sorry for ruining all your work. I hope you can still put up with me. I'm a handful, should have told you." He smirks, and it might be a bit inappropriate, but by the way their first conversation went he's got the feeling it's okay.

Greg laughs easily, which confirms that, and Louis grins. "Fine, Thursday night then. I'll have your contract ready by then."

Louis breaks out into an even bigger smile, because shit, that's a load off his shoulders. "Great. See you then! Wednesday night. I'll be ready."

"See you."

He finally raises his head after ending the call, and finds Harry and his friend staring at him. Harry looks like he doesn't know whether he should punch him or pat him for whatever reason, and his mate is only gravelly gazing. Louis' smile disappears the moment he meets Harry's eyes, and pointedly twists his jaw away. He gets back to plan A, and strides away with pride and dignity (and a little bit of happiness in his gut).