Unbelievers

Chapter 9.6

Wednesday.

The silence, the awkward skipping around each other, the shy apologetic looks during classes, they all stop on Wednesday at practice.

The lads on the team are gathered in the locker room, sitting on the benches in a circle. Louis is placed on one of the short ends, between Ed and Liam. Harry is on the opposite side, directly in front of him. Louis is fumbling with the laces to his shoes, trying not to look at the boy. He doesn't know why it matters if they work things out or not anymore.

Louis finishes his left shoe, looking up at where the lads beside Harry are laughing about something. Stan has got his phone up, pointing at the screen while Oli is cackling beside him. They're scrolling past pictures from some party it seems. Louis' annoyance with Stan is over the top. He scowls down at his shoes, continuing with his second cleat.

He once again hears his cackle after a couple of moments, and he snaps his head up, barely keeping himself from saying something nasty. He bites his tongue in the last moment, closing his mouth. Fighting within the team before the match is not good for their team mentality.

Instead his eyes wander to Harry, who's glancing down at Stan's screen as the other boy scrolls. His face is impassive, tired blues under his eyes prominent. Louis wants to smooth them out, kiss them away. Can't do that, no.

Louis doesn't know what it is that happens, but suddenly the boys quiet down, Harry's entire posture turning stiff as they all stare at the screen.

Stan and the boys burst out laughing after a second, but Harry doesn't laugh. His entire face displays clear shock, mouth open just a little. Then he shuts lips together, suddenly turning to face Louis. His eyes are cold, but Louis can read the hurt in there like an open book.

The whole team goes silent as Harry abruptly stands up in a scarily fierce movement, disrupting the chatter. He stands in the middle of the circle, eyes piercing Louis', whose heart is beating so hard it feels like he's going to crack a rib. Harry's never looked at him like this. He's just standing there, eyes filled with anger and hurt, staring at Louis like he's broken him in two.

"Did you fuck her good then?"

Louis' mouth falls open.

Harry's voice is void of any emotion, yet his eyes disclose everything at once.

"What?" Louis fumbles. "Who—"

"Jasmine! That's who!" His voice is one word from breaking. He points back at the phone Stan his holding. Stan is just sitting there, startled just like the rest of the boys.

"I didn't," Louis whispers.

"Zayn saw you! You were in the bathroom with her. The fucking shirt!"

Bathroom? What—fuck, that's over a month ago.

Liam's voice is like the calm spot within a hurricane. "Harry, he didn't sleep with her. She washed the shirt because it was gross after the party."

Harry swallows, arms wrapping around himself self-consciously. He blinks quickly, like he's fighting off tears.

"You don't trust me," Louis realizes.

Louis stares at Harry. He realizes that it does matter if they talk or not. The point is that he's head over heels in love with Harry, and Harry may or may not feel the same. It fucking matters.

Harry gives up any pretense of seeming composed. "I do, Lou," he whispers. "But it's scary, because you don't trust me back."

It's not fair. At the match, that wasn't supposed to happen. Harry shouldn't have looked at him in that way, and then left without explanation. Every other reaction would have been fine. Louis trusted Harry. After their night together he trusted him completely, but after his reaction he's been faltering, not knowing where they stand anymore. He still doesn't.

"It's not true," Louis says. "Trusted you with me."

The room is eerily silent, Louis vaguely aware of the other lads sitting around them.

He knows that it is beyond Harry's control if he'll hurt him. Louis will end up hurt however this all plays out, because in the end Harry will go.

"Pitch, boys," he orders, gaze locked in Harry's. Nobody moves an inch. "I said, go to the pitch!"

After an awkward moment, there's rustling of clothes and scrapes of studs against the floor. The boys file out of the room, Harry and Louis remaining put until every last person has left, the silence the only thing left in the room.

Louis stares at him, voice hard. "Don't think for a second that I would hurt you like that. You and Jasmine need to sort your fucking shit out. Leave me out of it, because I've been nothing but loyal to you."

He turns around leaves the room, the door loudly clashing closed behind him even though he didn't mean to slam it. He doesn't ever want to see the way Harry's eyes looked when he spoke again. He doesn't think they'll sort this out. He just doesn't see it happening.

He walks out onto the pitch, seeing how his teammates murmur among themselves. Louis doesn't say anything, and Harry doesn't come back for the rest of practice.