Competition

Chapter 11

"Hello, Menace. What could you possibly want at this ungodly hour and this ungodly amount of drunkenness?", I mutter as I turn around to face my antagonist.

I'm not that drunk. Not at all.

"Louis... I-I..", Harry stutters a little and I can see the gears of his brain turning.

"Good talk, H. Maybe we can catch up another time. Seems like you've got to get back to your fuck-buddy now. Zach, was it?", I pretend not to know his name, but in all honesty, that face was so perfect that it will be forever engrained in my memory.

Not that he's my type. I much prefer curly hair, and lanky limbs, and green eyes, and boys who slightly resemble frogs, and hockey players, and boys whose names start with an H, and goofy boys who pick out the F's from their alphabet soup, and boys who are also extremely possessive and intimidating when they want to be, and did I already say curly hair? and- ok no. I don't like Harry. I don't. And I'm not drunk. I'm really not.

It occurs to me that I've been staring at him for far too long, and almost miss it when he spouts off his excuse, "It's Zayn.. And he-we- it's not really that. It's just I mean... People get lonely and I guess experimenting is okay. Even though I'm not gay y'know it's just-"

"Okay Harry, I understand. You're not gay, even though I just saw you with a tongue down another boy's throat. Makes perfect sense mate", I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

Why did I have to admit my feelings for him literally 3 minutes ago? Why couldn't I just stand there and look at him with that fucking head scarf and a dangly earring and not think of it swinging back and forth as his body ruts against mine.

I'm so fucking screwed.

"Louis, you know I didn't sleep with Trevor", his declaration is unexpected, but it sends an arrow straight through my heart. I can actually feel the stitches that I just sewed with the alcohol coming undone.

I want to believe him, I really do, but he has given me exactly zero reasons to trust him.

"Okay yeah you didn't sleep with Trevor and I'm not gay. The world makes sense now," I know I'm being rude, but he deserves it. My relationship was shattered because of him.

"Listen, Champ. I know I'm an asshole, but I wouldn't do that to you. Trevor just said that shit to fuck with you, okay?", on his last word, Harry's fingers travel from his pocket to my chin. Pushing it up and forcing me to look at him. The gesture is obscenely sentimental, and I feel myself craving more of his touch.

"I don't believe you", my words come out a little choked and much weaker than I intended.

"Can we talk outside?", the bumping music and the yelling people are not appropriate things to be surrounded by for this conversation, so I shake my head slightly, already fighting off tears.

I oblige as he places his hand on my lower back and leads me through the crowds and past the bar. His hand is warm and steady and is assisting me in the help of sobering up a little.

As I walk outside, I think of what it would feel like to be with Harry. I know he has a sweet side, I've seen it. It makes me feel like all the stars have been rolled up into one and placed in my stomach. It feels like a butterfly set loose in my rib cage. It feels settling and warm and every other overused metaphor that can be used to describe an unethical pining.

"I didn't fucking do it Louis. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Why do you even care, Harry? You make fun of me all the time. Why does it matter that I think you slept with him? You don't care what I think of you", the words come out a little hurt and rushed.