Unbelievers

Chapter 9.5

He goes to training on Tuesday. He owes the boys that much. It's the last footie match in High School, the last one with this team, with his boys. Even if he isn't getting into his university, he still owes the lads to play his best. Winning the championship might mean a little something to him anyway, even if it won't lead him to something bigger.

Little things. Just because some things go to hell, it doesn't mean other lose meaning. It's not because of Harry that he's here. It's just... he's got nowhere else to go, so. Or that's what he tells himself.

It's obvious why Harry looks sad and awkward each time their eyes meet now. Louis still doesn't know why he kept away from him before he got accepted to Manchester, but every time Louis catches him staring at him now he looks miserable and apologetic.

Louis knows Harry didn't take his spot. He almost rolls his eyes at how silly thinking that would be, but he knows that Harry's scared that's what Louis thinks. He doesn't. This is all just... unfortunate.

He knows Harry wants to walk over and talk, apologize and apologize again, because he can see the way he looks at him. Louis can't take that. He can't take Harry being sorry for getting what Louis wanted. It only makes him feel worse.

"I miss Harry," Lottie says pointedly that afternoon, after practice. The three of them are slouching in the living room, Niall scratching at her scalp where she's fitted her head onto his lap.

"Well, suck it up."

"What he means to say is, he's waiting for Harry to woman up and tell him if he loves him back or not," Niall says, and receives an approving arched brow from Lottie.

Harry's afraid that Louis hates him because of football. Thing is, Louis could tell him that he isn't, fuck, he should tell him that, but. He can't talk to him, and especially not about where they stand anymore. How many times do you have to ask somebody to be clear with you and they never give you an answer, until you realize that they don't want to tell you? Obviously, the answer you want is not one that they can give.

There's the other thing. Harry is leaving. He doesn't know when, but some time before September he'll be gone. Louis doesn't know where he himself will be, but he knows where he won't. It's unfortunate.

"I'm getting another glass of water," he says, getting up from his chair, walking out into the kitchen.

He lets the tap run for a few seconds, waiting for the water to turn cold. He sips down the entire glass, refilling twice before he walks back to the living room.

"Did he ever tell you anything?" Niall's voice is low, murmuring. Louis stops in the hall, frowning.

"Not really. It was just small talk about random things. When Louis slept in late he'd come down and have breakfast with me, or just make me tea and we'd sit at the table for a bit."

Louis didn't know this. Harry was always by his side when he woke up. He was always there, nose pressed to his throat. Does that mean he always went back up, slid in under the covers and fitted himself back into Louis' side?

"That's so strange," Niall mumbles, sounding like it seems a bit unbelievable to him. Louis stays silent, listening intently. "Do you think he loves him back? You know, like Louis loves him, I mean? I've understood that they're friends too, but are they romantic?"

"Never really saw them acting like a couple, but they were affectionate. They saved private things for themselves, I guess. But..." her voice ceases for a moment. Louis listens harder, brows knit. "I really think that they can be good together."

She's wrong. They can't be good together. There are too many outer factors fucking everything up. It's fucked up, realizing that however Harry actually feels for him, it won't matter. In three months Harry will be gone anyway.

Honestly, Manchester can go fuck themselves. Not because they didn't pick him, but because they chose Harry and only him, whisking him away from Louis.

Louis is going to play for Liverpool solely in spite.

He walks back into the living room, making every sound conspicuous. Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.