Unbelievers

Chapter 6.4

Louis is pissed.

Harry is an arsehole. A complete twat.

Sure, Louis knew Harry wanted him to pretend to be his boyfriend tonight, but he did not know that Harry was going to throw a fit, out himself in the process, and now several people know Louis is not straight. For fuck sake, Louis doesn't know what he is and Harry should have fucking checked with him first if it was okay to spill everything to his entire frickin' family!

What if Anne sees Louis' mum at shop and decides to have a chat? They're not even dating. Louis hasn't even told anybody he's doing a guy, and no, no, no. Everything is just a big, fat motherfucking no.

Harry is driving him home since Louis didn't come with a car. Louis isn't speaking to him, is glaring out the window, but Harry's seems strangely elated, humming along to the radio. Fucking dementor.

When they stop outside Louis' house, he turns to Louis. "Are you still mad, baby?"

Louis snaps his head towards him, scowling. "Don't call me that."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Louis."

"I hate you."

"Louis, I didn't plan for the whole thing to happen."

"I know you wanted the 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."

"I don't."

"So what I said wasn't true?" Louis arches a brow, staring at him, eyes hard.

"Fine," Harry sighs. "I knew she was looking."

"I don't get you!" Louis exclaims, exhausted. "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 that is not how you keep a fucking secret!"

Louis breathes heavily, staring at Harry, jaw set. Harry looks back at him, one hand on the steering wheel, back slightly slumped. He's still in the blue button up, curls brushing his neck as he looks back on Louis.

"Sorry," he says tightly, meeting his eyes. The look they share is hard, long and unfaltering. It's Harry who finally gives in though, eyes flicking to watch the street through the windshield. "You forgot my birthday," he says.

Louis snorts. Unbelievable. "Sorry, sweetheart. It's not as if we're dating or anything," he answers, words reeking with sarcasm.

"You usually remember anyway."

"Are you mad because of that now?" Louis sighs, shaking his head as he crosses his arms, staring out the window at his house. He should just jump out of the car and leave. He doesn't get why he's still sitting here. "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?" Jesus, who even cares?

"I haven't gotten my gift, though."

"Well, you're not getting it either. I'm still mad at you for this stupid birthday party."

They're silent again, the heating from the seats in the car having slowly faded. Stupid, shiny car. Stupid Harry. Stupid everything.

Harry's thumb picks slightly at the leather of the steering wheel, eyes locked on the movement. "If I apologize, will you let me sleep at your house?" he asks, almost a whisper.