Unbelievers

Chapter 4.6

Louis is at the football pitch. It's Friday night, but the bleachers are empty and the spotlights are off. The air is cold and the grass frosty. Today was the last day of school before Christmas break. It's nice. He's got some maths to study during break, but other than that the schoolwork is pretty much finished for this term. Football season doesn't start up again until March either, although the team will have practice as usual once school starts again.

He hasn't spoken to Harry since the fight with Jasmine last Wednesday. Louis feels faintly creeped out when he thinks about them being together. He's had about twenty hours to process it, but the whole thing isn't making more sense to him now than before. One thing he's come to, though, is that somehow he can't really imagine Harry dating a girl. It's strange, but he just can't see it.

Louis would refuse to say it out loud, but let's face it, the image of Harry fucking Jasmine has popped up in his head more than once. It feels quite gross, and disturbing, but mostly terribly awkward. He can't really see Harry touching her like that and especially not being the one actually doing the fucking part. Louis' always figured he enjoys taking it way more than giving. Not that he's asked, but he's pretty certain that if he gets kicked in the shin for joking that 'maybe Harry should do the work instead', it means that no, Harry is not interested in doing the work. He's probably not a topping kind of person. Unless she used to ride him, which, yeah, is an offer Louis wouldn't decline if somebody asked either.

He's figured that someday he's going to fuck somebody else, but the idea of it seems quite far off. He's only ever slept with Harry, but he knows eventually he is going to do it with someone else. This thing with him can't go on forever. How many months has it been now since the first time? Three? Despite their constant feuds he can't truthfully say that he wants it to end. It's quite... not nice, exactly, but... yeah okay, it's nice. Harry's not nice, except for maybe when he moans in that way when Louis pulls his hair.

"What are you doing?" someone asks Louis when he's juggling a ball, just ten bounces away from his record. He flinches, which makes him drop it. With a heavy sigh he turns around, staring grimly at the person approaching him.

"What does it look like, Harold."

The boy is in black skinnies, a grey hoodie over his head and a jacket thrown on top. A few of his tangled curls poke out from underneath he hood. He looks tall, if a bit gangly, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets like this. Louis himself is in tracks and has a thick jumper on over a long-sleeved shirt. His blue beanie and cotton gloves are on; despite the cold he's trying to practice.

"I don't know," Harry says as he comes closer. "You look rather lonely, though."

"And that comes from the bloke strolling about the school on a Friday night."

Harry shrugs. "I was on a walk. Clearing my head."

"Didn't know you had much in there," Louis mutters.

"You really can't keep a conversation up for even one minute without insulting people, can you?" Harry rolls the football back with the sole of his shoe, hiking it up with his toes. He starts to bounce the football on his feet, gracefully getting to seven bounces before Louis speaks.

"It's hard," he says, chin up, "to be nice to you, when the only things you've done recently is ignore me and attack me out of nowhere."

Harry certainly knows what Louis is referring to – Louis can see how his shoulders stiffen slightly, faltering just the tiniest bit in his juggling, but managing to keep the ball in the air. In a sudden heat of frustration, Louis braces himself and then lands a hard shot to the ball when it's in the air above Harry's feet. Harry jerks back, the ball flying across the pitch into the dark somewhere.