"Five quid you're gonna burn those," Lottie says, as she leans on the counter next to the stove later that night.
Louis opens his eyes, throwing a glance at the frying pan. And, ah, crap. She's right. He hurriedly pulls the pan off the stove plate with a grimace, eyeing the burgers he attempted to make.
"Shit."
Lottie ticks her head to the side, glancing at the burned meat. "So, what's on your mind then?"
Nothing. A lot. Everything?
"Don't lie, I know when you lie."
"Just worried about... stuff, you know?" They don't talk about what "stuff" implies. They don't have to.
Lottie smiles sadly at him, and then nods at the kitchen drawer where the takeout menus are located. "Should we order in?"
Louis rolls his eyes, but agrees. "That's probably for the best."
He plucks his phone out of his pocket, feeling another anxious contraction in his chest when he sees the display is still empty.
Lottie takes hold of his arm after turning off the stove, and pulls him gently towards the living room. They end up ordering Chinese, and they chat lowly as they watch a movie that's running on the TV. Louis tries to stay away from the rice when they finally eat, knowing he hasn't gone for his daily run yet, but it looks too appetizing and there's so much on his mind other than the diet he's been keeping the last two months.
He tries not to think and just concentrate on the movie, but these nagging thoughts are constantly at the back of his head. He doesn't even know if he's going to make it to next the week at this rate.
He's not even meant to be thinking about the Harry thing. Look, it's not even like Louis got mad about what Harry was talking about. It wasn't even true, like, Harry is full of bullshit. Louis was just annoyed with him for being such an idiot and thinking he knows everything. What he said had no impact on him whatsoever, and even if it did, it's not as if Louis would let it show. That thing that happened afterwards just kind of... happened, and there's nothing else to it. Harry's just got this weird thing about him, and that's – Yes, this is all Harry's fault. Established. Done with. Stashed away and never thought of again. Great.
"Do you think you could teach me how to drive, maybe?" Lottie asks, looking at him from her side of the worn leather couch.
"You?" He raises a brow, brought out of his trance. "Are you even old enough?"
"Yes," she says, rolling her eyes, but then bites her lip. "I just thought," she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, "since Mum and Dad aren't around much, and like, I know you're busy, but perhaps you could teach me?"
Louis thinks his heart is squeezing a bit. "Of course I'll teach you, sis."
**
There are many things Louis has thought about these past days. This was not one of them.
After an hour of football practice the following Monday (a half hour of running drills, and a half hour of playing mini-games that Louis rewarded the boys with, but they didn't seem to particularly enjoy since their legs were too tired, including murderous stares from Harry), Louis finds himself in the locker room. All the lads are undressing, getting ready to shower, and Louis can feel Harry's angry gaze from across the room.
So, like, Louis is not awkward because there are a bunch of naked dudes surrounding him. That's a regular weekday afternoon. It's just that, Harry's looking at him, and Liam is leaning against the locker they almost got each other off against. And that's weird. It's really weird. He and Harry have gotten off against each other. That's... just. Louis doesn't know what to think when he thinks about that. It's strange and a bit creepy, and somehow it's all he can think about.
Harry's currently only partly undressed, standing by his bench in shorts, frequently sending small glares Louis' way. The rest of the boys are either in the showers or getting into fresh clothes. Louis has barely gotten his own kit off. He realizes this with a start and quickly rips off his jersey, kicking off his socks.
He cannot end up alone with Harry in the locker room again. That stuff can never happen again. Because it's gross. And that's not a gay thing – it's a Harry thing. Also, Louis does not need this in his life. Harry means trouble, and Louis can't have more trouble in his life than he already has. This, whatever it is that's happened twice now, cannot happen again, which means that Louis can't end up alone with Harry. Ever.
He quickly pulls on his old jersey again, figuring he better not test things and get in the showers, risking being caught alone with Harry afterwards. He stuffs his things in his bag again, ignoring Harry's eyes on him and stalks back to the football pitch. He didn't go for a run last night. He should jog some extra laps.
Louis avoids Harry like the plague for the rest of the week. He doesn't even sneer at him in the hallways the next day or spare him a glance at practice on Wednesday. He doesn't let himself get agitated at his stupid exercises at practice, only clenches his jaw and does whatever Harry orders, and he thinks Harry notices it. He doesn't stick around in the locker room and he doesn't shower with the team. It's kind of gross riding in his car all sweaty he soon realizes, so he usually stays and runs laps around the field until the showers have cleared out. Yes, he knows he's being a bit ridiculous, but he doesn't want to take any chances.
It's Thursday morning, six o'clock, when Louis picks Niall up before school. Niall looks half-asleep when he trudges out of his house, his school bag and a duffel bag thrown over a shoulder each. He's in track bottoms just like Louis, a t-shirt on his chest, and for some apparent reason he's put his fringe into a tiny ponytail that stands proudly upright on his forehead.
"You look like a unicorn," is the first thing Louis says to him. "Is that a tiny prick?"
"Fuck you. I cannot believe I'm doing this. You should be so glad I'm your best friend."
"I love you," Louis grins, poking him in the cheek. Niall only grunts and ties his shoelaces.
When they arrive at school the lot is empty, the brisk morning air fresh against their cheeks. They dump their bags by the bleachers, and Louis makes Niall pull on a thin, long-sleeved shirt over his t-shirt before they kick off on the track encircling the grass pitch. The grass looks a bit dewy, a sign the autumn is slowly nearing, and the fresh air does well for Louis' lungs.
Niall is panting slightly heavier beside him, but he's keeping up well. They chat a bit as they run and Louis stretches his legs out, feeling a slight ache. Harry made them do some really fucking strange exercise the other day that felt more like bending over and spreading your legs than anything else, and it's left some traces in his muscles.
"I don't get how you do this every day," Niall breathes after five laps, sweat glazing his forehead, cheeks flushed.
"I don't do this everyday."
"Maybe not at six am, but you run the blocks and the park all the time."
Louis shrugs the best he can while running and kicks up his speed, leaving a yard of space between them.
"Shit," Niall breathes heavily once he's caught up. "Calm down a bit, won't you? We've run five laps at a decent pace. You're going to ruin your legs, mate."
Louis makes a non-committed grunt, keeping up his pace.
After seven laps Niall throws himself on the grass beside the track and announces his capitulation, chest heaving and face flushed in red where he wrenches a bit too exaggeratedly on the ground. Louis rolls his eyes and runs two more laps, walking one last to calm his nerves and blood flow.
They shower in the locker room that's specifically distributed to the football team. Usually it's off limits for anyone not on the team, but since classes haven't started yet Louis figures it won't matter if Niall spends fifteen minutes in there. They get dressed, Louis using up ten minutes in front of the mirror trying to tame his hair, while Niall imitates a dog getting out of a bath. Louis pushes his sweaty clothes into his duffel, slinging it over his shoulder as they walk back to the parking lot.
It's almost warm when they step outside, and the morning dew is completely gone. The parking lot has started filling up with cars, and Louis waves at few of the lads from the team standing by the small fountain in front of the big entrance. The school may be small, but the board sure seems to invest a lot of money into making it look fancy.
They dump their duffels in the backseat of Louis' car and fetch their school bags, trudging back towards the main building. Louis' first class is French, while Niall has Geography in the second building.
"See you on the other side, mate," Niall says, saluting him and starting to back away.
"Tell Mr. Warner a big fuck you from me!" Louis calls after him, and Niall's laugh seems to echo against the sky.
Louis grins, and turns to face the main entrance. Of course, that's when he sees Harry.
He's leaning against his pretty car, shining like a toy in the morning sun, and he's with that artsy guy. He's in Louis' drama class but doesn't say much. They both look stupid where they stand, all sharp jaws, lean bodies and eyes brimming with disinterest. Harry's in black, skinny jeans as usual, a moss-green plaid shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders, and he's got his Ray Bans on like the pretentious bastard he is. If he's trying to look cool and authentic he isn't succeeding. Louis almost snorts. His friend is doing a way better job of it; dark, almost raven hair that's getting a bit long and is pushed to the side, everlasting pout on his lips, and a smoke between his fingers.
Louis glances down at his phone when it buzzes in his hand, disappointment sinking his chest once again. He bites his cheek and sends another glance towards Harry. A second later Harry's face turns Louis' way, and Louis determinedly twists his chin away, walking straight into the building without another look.
**
"Lads!" Coach exclaims, gathering them all around him during half time. Louis' blood is pumping, his knees are grassy and his forehead's sweaty, the adrenaline shooting through his body like a rocket. "You've got this, yeah? We're down by one, but if you keep this is up we'll catch up in no time. Liam, try to get the ball out as fast as you can, and Jonah we're going to move you up the field. Prioritize the offense, yeah?"
The rain is pouring down, drenching them, and Louis is furious. The opposing team is shit and yet they've succeeded a goal to them. It wasn't even a pretty goal, and if Stan hadn't fouled their midfielder they wouldn't have gotten that free kick. It was a cheap one as well, and Louis was opening his mouth at the referee in 0,1 seconds.
This isn't a good start of the season. The referee has kept a close eye on Louis after that, and he even threatened to give him a yellow card if he didn't keep his mouth closed for the rest of the game. Louis can't even give a friendly elbow in the ribs to one of the opposing players, and the frustration is making him sweat even worse. Coach is constantly yelling at him to go wider, to open spaces for the rest of his teammates, even though Louis knows if they'd all just keep their positions for once he would easily be able to dribble through the opposing team's defense.
"You've got this, Tommo!" Stan says fiercely, clapping him supportively on the shoulder, before Liam grips his neck and tells him to keep open so that he can get him the ball immediately from goal kick.
They get back out on the field soon after that, and Harry grabs Louis' shoulder harshly. "Pass me the fucking ball, fuckhead," he growls, and then jogs off to his spot for kickoff.
Louis fights off the urge to flip him one, and then the match is on in full force again. It's sweaty, rough and frustrating, and Louis uses his muscles to tackle anyone he can get close to. He's too heated and Harry keeps waving at him to pass, but he's in a bad position and Louis' head is spinning.
The second half is coming to a close what feels like forty minutes too soon, the desperation among the team almost tangible on the field. The blood is burning in Louis' veins.
"Wider, Louis!" the coach yells.
"Louis, over here!" Connor is screaming, and all Louis can think is "four minutes" and that there are two players in front of him that he needs to get past.
The ball is light and moves quickly at his feet due to the wet grass, and he moves with the speed and technique only someone with years of training could. He doesn't even think. Harry is waving at his right, vein almost popping in his neck, and Louis fakes left, going right. He passes his first opponent, his teammates calling for him in his periphery. The second player isn't attacking him like the first one. He's pensive and calculates Louis' moves, not blindly attacking. Louis' blood is stirring as his muscles work without thought. He does a quick step over, then fakes left, goes right, and then stops, bringing the player out of balance for a fraction of a second, just enough to be able to pass him on the left side.
The maneuver is impressive, but Louis barely hears the crowd cheering. He can tell Coach is screaming at him, pointing in a direction Louis doesn't have time to waste looking in, and he sees Harry waving his arm above his head. Louis doesn't pass him, though. He charges forward, voice in his head frantically yelling that they can't lose. He can see the other team's keeper readying himself to protect his goal, and he can Harry's looking absolutely livid in the corner of his eye.
Louis continues forward, ready to shoot, and then suddenly he's tackled.
He looses the ball.
It's a fair tackle. Louis is on his bum on the wet grass, and the referee doesn't even bat an eye. He feels his stomach sink, and he knows he's screwed up. It's just simply in the air that his teammates' insides are bubbling with annoyance and disappointment at his actions.
He looks up, immediately seeing the grim stare Harry's nailing him with. He shakes his head slowly and Louis feels like he's imploding. He gets back up on his feet, and his throat is thick and there's a lump in it, but he tries to breathe normally. It's not working, his chest feeling tight and heavy as it heaves in ragged movements. There's nothing but disappointment within him. He knows it's his fault, and the rest of the team know it too. He's just cost them the first win.
There's only a minute left of the game and Louis knows they're going to lose. The crowd seems to know it too, their cheers having died down and their posters lowered.
But then Louis sees it happen. Freddie steals the ball from the guy on the other team. It happens in a matter of seconds. The player succeeds the ball to Freddie, who sends it through the air, landing at Stan's feet. A quick maneuver, another pass, and then the ball is figuratively in Harry's hands. Harry shoots forward, rounding his defender and sends the ball shooting like lightning into the far end of the goal, into the net.
It's a tie. 1-1.
The game is over subsequently and Harry's in the bottom of a pile of muddy Donny players, and Louis' left staring.
They didn't lose, is the first thing he thinks.
Second, Harry made sure of that.
Third, Louis screwed up. He fucked up bad.
The crowd is cheering, Harry's being praised, the coach is shaking his head at Louis and it feels like something is burning a hole through his body, burning his flesh from the inside and rotting every piece of him.
The disappointment turns into anger.
He doesn't speak to anyone after the game. Niall gives him a sympathetic smile that he ignores. His sister and mother tell him a "good game" each from where they are standing, closely huddled under a yellow umbrella, which he completely neglects. He's soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead. He should feel cold, but he's so heated inside he could ignite.
None of the boys speak to him in the locker room. Only Liam claps him on the back, making Louis shrug the hand off without a word. The lads get into the showers, and Louis sits on the bench, staring at the muddy floor for minutes.
He can hear the boys singing in the showers, Harry's name being praised over and over again, and Louis' never felt quite like this before.
He's never been this disappointed in himself. Maybe it's how enormous the buildup for the game was, how high his expectations of himself were, that made everything feel so colossally disastrous now, but he knows there's so much more. Everything is riding on this. He doesn't have anything else. He doesn't know what he's going to do if this doesn't go his way – and that is terrifying.
Tears prickle in his eyes and he suddenly can't stand it anymore. He gets up from the bench, wiping at his eyes, pulling on his jacket and throwing his bag over his shoulder. He storms towards the door, ready to run away to the parking lot without another glance at a single person who witnessed the game tonight.
His eyes catch on something, though. Harry's bag is open, and his fancy car keys are on the top of the clothes in his bag, glinting a bit in the fluorescent lights. It's silly, and it's childish, but in the moment it feels justified.
In the go, without a second thought, Louis snatches the keys from the bag, and jogs through the rain to the car his family's waiting in.
**
Lottie and Louis' mother are out getting dinner. Louis didn't want to come. It's been an hour since he left the school after the game and the anger has subdued a bit. The rain is still pouring, and he's sitting on the small stone porch outside the front door, staring as the tiny grass lawn turns muddier by the minute. He's got Harry's car keys in his hands, fiddling slightly with them in his lap. He doesn't even know what he's supposed to do with them. Just put them back in his locker at practice on Monday? Harry's surely not even suffering, probably caught a ride with his parents back home after the game.
Fuck.
Louis doesn't know what he's doing. He had it figured out. He was going to win every footie game this season and prove that he's good enough, but now everything seems so hopeless. First game and he screwed up. He sighs, groaning in annoyance and looks up.
"What the fuck," he says loudly. What the hell?!
There's a soaked, dripping and completely sodden Harry Styles walking by on the sidewalk past Louis' house.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he calls, watching as Harry's head snaps up, finding Louis staring at him in confusion. Harry looks up, glancing at the house for a second. He's only got a hoodie on and a pair of tracks, his bag hanging over his shoulder, the strap across his chest. His hair is wet against his forehead, and he looks like baby Tarzan more than anything else. Well, he also looks like a beaten puppy.
Harry stares at Louis for a moment, standing still on the pavement, before he finally says, "The question is, what are you doing? Why are you sitting on a porch, looking sufficiently suicidal?"
"I'm not suicidal! I'm just... it – I thought it was appropriate to my mood," Louis huffs.
"So fucking dramatic, I swear to God..." Harry sighs and shakes his head, rolling his eyes tiredly.
Louis copies the gesture lamely, crossing his arms where he's sitting under the yellow porch light. Harry's still standing in the rain, not that that matters to Louis. "If anyone's suicidal, it's you. What are you even doing walking in this weather?"
"I think I lost my keys," he mumbles, frowning.
"How unfortunate," Louis deadpans, hand automatically squeezing around the set of keys in his hand. It's Harry's fault he didn't hitch a ride with his parents anyway. No need looking like a puppy like that, hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders up.
Harry just squints and pulls an insincere smile at him that lasts for about a second.
"Well, have fun walking in the rain." Louis stands up, turning towards the house. "Oh, and heads up!" He throws the set of keys at him. Harry looks up just in time, catching them at his chest. He frowns, and then the realization sets in.
"What the fuck?" he exclaims. "You stole my keys?!"
"Who said I didn't just find them?" Louis counters, glaring.
"Where? In the pocket of my jeans?!"
Louis sighs, but Harry's stalking forward, shoes wetly scraping against the small stone path up to the porch. "You're so sensitive," Louis says, giving a little shake of his head. "What's a walk in the park?"
"I'm going to be sick now!" Harry yells, exasperatedly throwing his arms out. "What if I miss football practice?"
Wow. This might actually be one of Louis' best schemes yet, elaboration and intent irrelevant.
"Oh, calm down, captain." Louis rolls his eyes. "What's a little cold? A fever isn't that bad." Harry looks ready to burst and Louis' mood rises by the second. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not some sadist."
"Fucking sinister is what you are!" Harry yells. His big eyes are green and enraged, and he's shaking his head. "What is the matter with you? Why – Why would you take – no, steal my car keys! Who does that? Why would you...?" He stops his strange pacing and looks up at Louis, suddenly shaking his head again and squinting in incredulousness. "Is this about the game? Wow! You are so incredibly selfish."
"Hey!" Louis finally cuts in. "I'm not selfish! I gave the keys back, didn't I?"
Harry laughs coldly. "Yeah, okay, yeah. It's fine now!" He makes a disgusted noise. "Ugh, Louis! You're so bitter! I don't understand you. You're so fucked up."
Louis charges forward. "I'm not fucked up. You're fucked up!" His hands collide with Harry's shoulders.
"What a comeback," Harry sneers, pushing him back.
"Why are you always such a jerk?" Louis pushes him back again, putting them on the muddy lawn.
"I'm a jerk? You have a twisted fucking perception of reality," Harry huffs, pushing back.
"You know what?" Louis suddenly says, throwing his hands out. "I'm not going to do this with you. Goodbye! You can leave." He turns his back on him, stalking towards the house.
"We're not finished yet!" Harry growls, and Louis hears him walking after him.
Louis spins around, and almost gets a whiplash when he snaps his head up, finding Harry right behind him. Their chests are flush and Harry's a few inches taller, staring down at him while he tries to control his breathing. They glare at each other, and Louis is reminded of how their last fight turned out. Harry's nose is flared, eyes fierce, and Louis swallows.
It's going to happen. He can tell. Harry's going to grab him and roll his hips against him like last time, and Louis' not going to be able to stop it from happening. He doesn't know what he's going to do when it does.
Harry looks down at him, biting his lip in that way. "Fuck me," is what he eventually says, bluntly and breathlessly.
That was not exactly how Louis expected it to happen, but... "Yeah, okay," is his response.
Somehow Louis ends up dragging Harry into the house, pressing him down on the floor in the hall. "My mum and sister will be home soon," he rushes, ripping off his sweater and pushing his track bottoms off.
Harry shakes head, turning over on the floor. "Just take me from behind," he breathes, and... yeah, that's, that's. Okay.
Harry's just seems to know what to do, and boldly pulls down his trackies and pants to his ankles, easily getting on his knees while Louis struggles with breathing correctly. Harry also apparently just so happens to have a bottle of lube and condoms in his bag as well, and Louis isn't even surprised because Harry is probably some sort of sex freak with an exhibitionist kink among many others. Louis wouldn't be shocked, honestly.
Harry lets Louis finger him open. It's probably the strangest thing he's ever done, but certainly also the hottest. Harry's walls are hot and thick, and Louis' fingers are slick. He can't help but moan at the sensation, while his other hand is squeezing around his hip harshly. Harry isn't quiet either and after only two fingers he claims he's ready, practically pushing his arse against Louis' groin.
Louis fumbles with the condom, Harry groaning impatiently in front of him. When he finally pushes into his heat, his entire body feels on fire. It's hot and it's sweaty. Louis' knees hurt against the floor, but he assumes Harry's worse off and he isn't complaining. He's leaning on his elbows, head hung and body jerking with every one of Louis' thrusts. He's so warm around him, Louis' fingers digging into his sides, hips snapping, and the sound of hot skin slapping is all Louis can hear apart from Harry's moaning.
"Harder," Harry groans, face buried in the crook of his arm. "Please," he moans.
Louis won't deny it. He likes hearing Harry beg.
They don't last long. Harry jerks himself off with pants and moans, and Louis comes with stuttering thrusts and nails digging into Harry's hips.
"Shit," Harry breathes once Louis' pulled out of him. Louis runs a hand through his sweaty hair and throws him a glance. He's still on his stomach, trousers at his ankles, and the skin by his hips is red. "You know," he says, "before the first time we fucked, I honestly didn't expect you to have as big of a cock as you do."
Louis rolls his eyes. "And now you just can't seem to get enough of it?"
"Your self-righteousness is gross."
"And your 'holier-than-thou' attitude is appalling."
"Who knew you had such a vocabulary?"
Louis glares at him, but is interrupted just as he opens his mouth. The headlights from a car shine in through the windows in the kitchen, and Louis grabs Harry's arm roughly.
"Get up! Now!" He hurriedly gets his own trousers on, fetching Harry's bag from where it's lying by the door.
"Fuck," Harry swears, immediately getting on his feet and pulling his pants up from his ankles. "Where's my shirt?"
Louis hurriedly looks around for it, catching eye of a wet hoodie by a chair. He throws it at him, picking up the shoes that must be his as well, and pushes him towards the back door in the kitchen. He hears the car doors slamming shut from outside and in hysterics opens the door, and literally shoves Harry barefoot out in the rain.
"Hey!" Harry exclaims, but ducks with wide eyes when Louis throws his shoes at him. "Ow!"
"It's a pair of shoes! You're so fucking weak."
"Fucking sinister!" Harry exclaims, as he stumbles to put them on.
Louis flips him off and closes the door in his face, turning to face the room just as his mother comes into the kitchen.
"Hi, honey. Feeling better? We bought frozen lasagna. Let's snuggle up in front of the TV, yeah?"
"Brilliant," Louis smiles, kicking a sock that doesn't belong to him behind him.
**
"You stole his keys?" Niall asks in incredulousness. "You – You stole his... keys."
Louis glares at the ceiling above his bed.
"You actually, literally stole his car keys. Like, the keys to his car. From his bag." There's a moment of silence. "His keys?!"
"Yes, Niall!" Louis exclaims. "His keys! I stole his keys!"
"God, Louis... Just checking."
"Why are you laughing?" Louis can literally hear his attempts at keeping quiet through the phone. The next second Niall is bursting into actual laughter. It's Saturday afternoon, and Louis doesn't need this. "Stop laughing!" Niall cackles for a minute straight, his literal ha-ha-ha's vibrant even through a phone. Louis rolls over on his bed and hangs up on him.
A moment later Niall calls him up, still laughing into the phone. Louis hangs up again.
He crawls underneath the covers of his bed, mourning every piece of dignity he used to have. Louis' mother found a grey, soaked shirt under a radiator in the hall yesterday and Louis had to pretend it was Liam's from the team, and he'd put it there to dry. His mother had given him a funny a look before picking it up and throwing it in the wash, and Lottie had laughed at him from her spot at the kitchen table. The shirt is now lying neatly on Louis' dresser, freshly washed and folded, together with the pair of socks Harry had left behind.
Louis' phone buzzes beside him again. He rolls his eyes, pressing the green button on the screen. "Have you stopped being a dick yet?"
"Sorry, mate," Niall snickers, and Louis sighs. "No, don't hang up! I'm nice again. Please, do go on and tell me what happened next. I'm all ears." Louis doesn't think that's very believable, considering most of the time Niall's only mouth and no ears.
"Right," he says, and tells a brief summary of what occurred, conveniently forgetting to add the "oh, and we fucked" part. Louis doesn't even know how he would tell anybody that. How do you just tell somebody that you've done it up the arse with someone you hate? Niall's life would be a lie, honestly.
His phone buzzes once more while he's speaking to Niall, and he quickly pulls away to glance at the screen. He frowns when he sees it's only a random text, and he realizes he can't just sit and wait anymore. He tells Niall he's got to go, and hangs up.
It's been almost two weeks now and nobody's called or sent him a message. He went all over town, leaving resumes and begging people to take him on, and he hasn't gotten a single response. He realizes getting a job isn't that easy, and it's not as if Louis' resume is very impressive, but he really, really needs this.
He gets out of bed, righting his shirt and changes his tracksuit pants for a pair of proper jeans. He fixes his hair a bit and makes sure he looks presentable, before trudging downstairs. Lottie's with her friends and his mother's working, but what's new. Jay takes the bus to work so that Louis and Lottie will have the car available, and spending a lot of money on petrol isn't something they're very keen on. Louis tries not to use it too much, but he gets lazy sometimes, and today is one of those days.
It's a weekend so there are more people in town than usual, but Louis tells himself to just suck it up. He needs this, and he wants to make it easier for his mother as well. He goes into the café at the end of Cavanaugh St. but no success there. The manager apparently hasn't even looked over his resume, and Louis turns and leaves with a roll of his eyes. At the next place, the cinema, they say they aren't hiring at the moment, but Louis tries to persuade them into changing their minds. It doesn't go very well, but at least the owner of the salon says he'll get a free popcorn next time he visits.
Three additional stops and no luck later, he finds himself at the little fro-yo shop on Will Abby. He's getting a bit desperate, and by the time he walks in the sun's starting to set. There are a couple of people sitting around in the shop, but none of whom Louis recognizes, so he walks straight up to the till. A tall guy is standing behind the cashier, and he's wearing a black t-shirt with a pink little fro-yo cup over the heart. He looks fairly young, and his nametag says "Greg".
Before Louis gets a word out though, the lad is looking up, and pulls a smirk. "Louis, innit?" he says, grinning slightly, giving him a slow onceover.
"What?" Louis says dumbly, taken aback.
Greg smiles, giving him a nod. "Your resume. I read it over yesterday."
"Oh." Alright. Okay. "So..." he says, warily stepping forward and leaning his arms on the counter. He finds himself looking up at the guy, who feels like a good ten inches taller than him. "What do you say?"
"Straight forward aren't you?"
"Well, there isn't much else to talk about is there?"
Greg gives him a small smile. He copies Louis, leaning on the counter. "Look, Louis. Do you have any experience at all? As in working in a shop with costumers?"
"It's putting cold stuff in a pot. How hard can it be?" Louis says, shrugging.
"So, no," Greg smiles, and he might look a bit endeared with Louis' attitude. "No experience?"
"I'm pretty?" Louis tries. "I'll bring all the girls in town to the shop?" Even if that's the exact opposite of what he would like to happen. Ideally, nobody in the world would know he needs a job to help his family's economy.
Greg laughs, lips quirking up around a white smile, and he straightens up, hands on the edge of the counter. "True," he grins. "You are pretty."
Louis smiles. "So? Me, fro-yo, work here thing?" He doesn't care if Greg only gives him the job on the grounds of the "bringing girls" concept – he just needs the damn job.
He purses his lips, looking down at Louis. "I'll give you a call once I've worked out some schedules. I need to teach you a thing or two as well."
The sense of relief is almost making Louis hug the guy, but he settles for a smile and a handshake, and leaves with the feeling of a tiny bit of the anxiety in his belly being smothered.
**
Louis was seriously anxious about what people would say at school about the game. He was prepared for looks, people rolling their eyes and sighing in his presence, and even his teammates ignoring him. It's safe to say he was a bit worried, but as the school day on Monday passes by, it seems to have been for nothing. Nobody seems to hold even the slightest grudge against him, and his teammates seem all too wrapped up in talking about how fantastic the ending of the match was, and how Harry saved the game. To be honest, Louis greatly prefers that even if it isn't completely ideal.
And Louis has more to worry about, namely how the hell he's going to return Harry's clothes that are currently lying tucked into his bag. He's contemplated just putting them in his locker while the boys shower after footie practice, but it feels a bit perilous, and he doesn't really want to risk getting caught, because how would he ever manage to explain that?
He can't make up his mind, and that's why after second last period he's still got Harry's clothes in his bag, and is considering just throwing his shirt away or just put them on top of his other locker in hope he'll find them later. And that's what he doesn't understand either; why he so badly has to make sure Harry gets his shirt back. It's a bloody piece of fabric. And socks. Who the fuck cares?
That's how he decides. Who the fuck cares, it's a damn shirt. He's just going to walk straight up to Harry's locker and leave it there. He purposefully strides down the corridor, and steers into the hallway he knows Harry's locker is located in. Thankfully, the hall is relatively empty, most people on their way to classes, and Louis quickly follows the lane of red painted lockers until he reaches the one he knows belongs to Harry.
(Long story short: in freshman year Louis and Harry had a slight tendency of sending little death threats and hate notes to each other by sticking them in the other's locker.)
He can see a few girls down the hall making their way towards him, and he quickly digs through his bag, getting the shirt out and trying to find the damn socks as well. It takes a moment or two, and then someone is clearing their throat behind him just as his hand closes around the pair.
He slowly turns around, and of course. Of fucking course.
Harry is standing there. He's in this stupid, patterned button down, which is not even buttoned. Like barely. His hair is getting a bit long lately, and it's curling around his ears, and he's got this deep parting going on. His arms are crossed, one of his eyebrows arched upwards. He's staring at him expectantly, and he looks so damn stupid and posh that Louis merely even acknowledges Harry's friend – the artsy guy – that's standing next him.
Louis straightens up, and with vast dignity and head held up with pride places the pair of socks on top of Harry's shirt, and takes the two steps up to him. He keeps his chin up, pointedly not looking at him when he neatly presents the articles to him, holding them out. Louis can see Harry slowly reach out in his periphery, and the second he takes the clothes, Louis ready to stride away, intent on showing how unbothered, indifferent, and completely blasé he is about all of this.
His phone just happens to start ringing and he reacts in a fraction of a second, seeing as it's Greg from the fro-yo shop. He has to take this call immediately, his plan be damned.
"Shit," he accidentally says, earning a glance from Harry as he's struggling with his bag and getting the phone to his ear. "Fuck."
"Hi, Louis! You look great today!" a girl's voice says from beside him and he vaguely recognizes it, but is too preoccupied trying to accept Greg's call to look up.
"Hi, thanks," he says in a haste, finally tapping the green button. "Greg!"
"Louis! Mate! How are you? I've got the schedules worked out. How about you come over at four on Wednesday and I'll teach you everything I know."
Louis can almost see Greg's smirk in his head. "Sorry, man. I can't do afternoons. Weekends and nights only."
"Well, shit," Greg says. "You could have told me that."
"Sorry for ruining all your work. I hope you can still put up with me. I'm a handful, should have told you." He smirks, and it might be a bit inappropriate, but by the way their first conversation went he's got the feeling it's okay.
Greg laughs easily, which confirms that, and Louis grins. "Fine, Thursday night then. I'll have your contract ready by then."
Louis breaks out into an even bigger smile, because shit, that's a load off his shoulders. "Great. See you then! Wednesday night. I'll be ready."
"See you."
He finally raises his head after ending the call, and finds Harry and his friend staring at him. Harry looks like he doesn't know whether he should punch him or pat him for whatever reason, and his mate is only gravelly gazing. Louis' smile disappears the moment he meets Harry's eyes, and pointedly twists his jaw away. He gets back to plan A, and strides away with pride and dignity (and a little bit of happiness in his gut).
**
The very next day, the first thing he's met by when he walks into homeroom is a hot scowl from the back of the classroom. It's Harry, who else, and he looks proper pissed off. Louis isn't exactly fazed, but he can't help but wonder what it is now. He isn't surprised, but he's fairly certain he hasn't done anything. He goes through his memory in class, but he can't seem to remember a moment where he's supposed to have angered him. Football practice went fine, they didn't even bicker since Harry was pleasingly ignoring him, and he can't be reminded of any other time where they could have clashed.
He doesn't really care, though. Harry's an unreasonable twat anyway. Louis has things to do, like, not worry about any Harry related thing whatsoever.
Niall complains about his nail condition during lunch, which means he's still hung up on the school nurse. Louis doesn't really see it, but supposedly she's hot.
"But have you seen her legs, mate?" he says, when Louis tells him to get a grip. "She's like made of gold. Her skin is shining, and her eyes are the deepest of the deepest seas. I'd get down on my knees for her anytime and anywhere. I bet she tastes like glitter, if you know what I mean."
"You need a fucking filter."
He doesn't have the time for this.
Thursday is coming up, and he actually finds himself getting a little nervous. He's not usually the type to get nervous, and Greg seems great, but Louis has this feeling that if he doesn't do this properly he will be getting sacked stat, and that is just isn't something he can afford.
When the day finally rolls around, and Louis has suffered yet another day with Harry staring at him like a creep the entire school day, he is at the frozen yoghurt shop and Greg is showing him the ropes.
He's in his normal black jeans, but he's wearing a black t-shirt with the logo on, just like the one Greg had on a couple of days ago. It all seems pretty easy, only the fro-yo machine is a little complicated to refill, and the cashier takes him about fifteen minutes to work, and Greg laughs at him the entire night. He has to wear a stupid tag as well that says 'NEW AT WORK' and while it's embarrassing, it helps him not to look like a complete idiot in front of costumers.
Actually, this whole job thing isn't as bad as he'd thought. He thought he'd feel ashamed standing behind the counter, but it makes him feel better. He's making a difference, helping himself get somewhere and he feels less uneasy knowing he's at least trying.
He feels his phone buzzing in his pocket, and a wave of unease falls over him at once. He lied to Niall about what he was doing tonight. He never lies to Niall. He hasn't lied to him in years (and withholding certain information does not count), and he seriously doesn't have a good reason why he's done it now. It's just... embarrassing, but he knows that if Niall found out he's gotten a job, he would passively aggressively guilt trip Louis into bringing his family to dinner at his house, and then make his own parents invite them to lunch both two days of the weekend for the rest of the year. That's not something Louis wants. They're fine.
He ignores his phone, looking up when he sees his new boss approaching.
"Do you think you could handle a customer by yourself?" Greg asks, nodding encouragingly at the glass door. Louis looks over, and he spots somebody coming towards the shop.
"Yes," he nods, feeling kind of okay behind the till. "You better not leave though," he adds. Greg cackles, but stays.
When the door opens, Louis regrets his decision instantly. It's a woman and a man walking into the shop, and his stomach sinks. This is so not what he needs right now.
"I'm just saying, Des," the woman says, hand gesturing vividly. "I don't think it's a good idea –"
"Anne, we've talked –"
"Don't interrupt me, please." They stop in front of desk, eyeing the toppings while they continue bickering.
Louis' never felt more uncomfortable. He glances back at Greg helplessly, but the bloke only snickers, gesturing for him to go on. Louis really doesn't want to interrupt – he doesn't want to be a part of this at all.
"Are you ready to order...?" he asks carefully after another minute of listening to the couple snip at each other.
The woman looks up at him, and Louis meets her eyes. She looks strikingly much like Harry. The same big mouth, the jawline familiar and her hair the same dark color as his. Her hair is wavy, not as curly as Harry's, but it's easy to tell from whom he inherited his looks. Mrs. Styles' eyes are lined with wrinkles, but it's hard to tell if they're from age or exhaustion. Something tells him it's the latter.
Louis fully expects her to recognize him, considering he plays on her son's football team. Yet he earnestly hopes Harry's parents are too wrapped up in their fighting to realize who he is, because if they do they might tell Harry he works here, which is definitely not something he wishes. He can't believe it's only been a few hours and it's already gone to hell.
Somehow Harry's mother doesn't twist a muscle, doesn't actually seem to recognize him in the slightest. She orders a small pot with cut strawberries and coconut shavings, and Harry's father one with Oreo chunks. Louis nervously taps the screen to the computerized cashier as the couple start bickering again. It makes him even more nervous, because their fighting is incessant and he barely knows how to work the machine as it is.
"Is something wrong?" Harry's mum asks, and Louis instantly flushes.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm new."
"It's okay, sweetheart." She pauses. "Des, I'm going to my lawyer on Monday if you don't change your mind."
Jesus Christ.
"Anne!"
"I'm done!" Louis announces much louder than intended, and hands the credit card back over to Harry's mum forcefully. Take it and leave, for the love of God.
"Thanks, love." She takes the card, and picks up her fro-yo. They leave and Louis almost feels like he's supposed to wipe sweat off his brow. He watches the door to the shop close, uneasiness bubbling in his stomach.
Greg hangs his arm over his shoulders. "That went well. Depressing couple as hell, but that went pretty good I think."
"Yeah," Louis swallows, tearing his eyes from the windows.
**
The next day, Louis can feel Harry's eyes on him from the moment he steps out of his car in the parking lot at school. He doesn't know if he's imagining it because he still feels so uncomfortable with what happened at the shop last night – or what he heard, rather – but he feels awkward the entire day.
When he glanced around the lot he wasn't able to spot Harry, but considering the boy was still staring at him the day before he is pretty sure it isn't just in his head. It's confirmed when he attends the classes they share. Harry's eyes are surely locked on him the entire lectures. The few times Louis dares to meet his eyes, he's just staring back, eyes dark and teeth sunk into his bottom lip. His gaze on him makes him squirm, mainly because he doesn't know what it is he wants.
It continues the whole day. When Louis sees him in the corridor between classes his eyes are always set on him, and he isn't even glaring, he's just looking and it's creepy and weird. For a moment he thinks that Harry's parents might have recognized him after all, but it doesn't feel like it's that. They didn't even spare him an extra glance the night before.
During lunch Harry's sitting at a table inconveniently situated across from Louis, and his stares have turned from weird to something terrifyingly on a level with stalker-ish, and Louis almost wants to cry because he doesn't know if Harry wants to kidnap and murder him, or grab him by the collar and fuck him against the nearest wall.
Before football practice Louis tries to raise a brow at him, silently asking him "what?!" while they're on opposite sides of the locker room, but Harry only keeps looking. He stares at him, and then slowly, slowly his tongue peaks out and licks his bottom lip. Louis' immediately freaked out and is certain Harry is doing this exclusively for the purpose of just that. He gets his cleats and runs out of the changing room, escaping towards the pitch as fast as he can manage.
Luckily, Harry's the one in charge of practice today, and he has to keep his attention on the team, rather than on Louis. It's a relief, but Louis' still wondering if he's just taunting him, has some hidden motive, or simply is just crazy. After practice he goes strictly home without showering, avoiding Harry at all costs.
The following day isn't nearly as nerve-wracking, but Louis still feels strange and Harry gives him a few lingering glances during homeroom.
At lunch Louis is at a table by the west end, eating together with a few lads on the team. Niall's somewhere on his left, being loud and laughing obnoxiously. Any other day Louis would have been acting the same, but he is currently being stared at by Jack the Ripper (also commonly referred to as Harry).
Louis wrinkles his nose, chewing slowly on his bagel. Harry is in some kind of white blouse, and there's an earring dangling from his ear. He looks like some kind of pirate with a thing for women's clothes. Louis silently bets the earring is fake.
"What has he done now?" Liam says on his right, startling him slightly.
"Hmm?" he says, swallowing.
"Styles. What has he done now? You're glaring."
"Well, he glared at me first," Louis mutters.
Liam chuckles. "What did you do then?"
Louis turns to look at him contemplatively. Liam is a nice kid. He's been the team keeper for years, and he's one of those guys people just like, even though he doesn't even try. It's the brown, puppy eyes, Louis figures. Or the fact that he's got biceps like no other, and could probably bench-press Louis himself.
"I don't know, Liam," he says slowly, licking his lip and taking another bite of his bagel. He glances at Harry's table, and he finds him still gazing. "I don't know."
During fourth period it's announced through the speakers that footie practice has been canceled, and Louis is about to go to Coach's office to complain after class when he's interrupted by a text message from an unknown number.
My house after school. Bring lube.
It can only be from one person (and he swears to god he doesn't even want to know how in the world Harry's got his number) and Louis is wholeheartedly wondering why Harry's such a bloody creep. And he's absolutely ridiculous, too, expecting Louis to just show up because he says so. Louis doesn't even own lube. Like, why would he have lube?! Also, they're planning 'dates' now? What even? And – ah, fuck. Louis is going to have to buy lube, because, well, of course he's going to Harry's.
After ten excruciating minutes at the pharmacy, Louis is pulling up at Harry's house. He has decided he is never, ever, ever going to buy lube by himself again, especially one that says 'for anal use'. The woman at the desk probably knew who he was and thought he was going to go home and shove a cucumber up his arse. Fucking Styles. Louis cannot believe he just did that.
He locks the car and fervently begs to the lord Harry's parents aren't home. He does not particularly want to be in an environment where people threat their spouses with getting divorces when they don't get their way, particularly when he's holding a bottle of lube in his hand. And also, Harry's parents could recognize him, which could have severe consequences.
He's fairly sure they aren't home, however. Otherwise Harry hopefully wouldn't have "invited" him over, unless his parents are okay with their son having sex with boys while they're at home. Which wouldn't actually surprise him since they're related to Harry, who Louis is becoming more and more certain is a total freak.
Anyways. Louis is getting sidetracked here.
He knocks on the door. Several times. Harry doesn't open, but when Louis tries the doorknob it's unlocked, so he carefully walks in. The first thing he thinks when he steps inside is that the Styles family probably keeps three maids in a cellar somewhere that are forced to keep the house unnaturally clean. Secondly, it doesn't look like Harry belongs to this house in the slightest. Harry is all kitsch and knickknack, and this house is very... neat. Polished.
This is so uncomfortable.
Louis finds a wide staircase, and figures Harry's room is upstairs. On the wall on the way up, several framed family photographs are set up. It's Harry and his parents, including a girl who must be Harry's older sister. Louis wouldn't be surprised if the girl is halfway across the country. Louis would be if he had to live with such parents they have. For a moment he feels sort of queasy as he lurks his way to Harry's room upstairs. He doesn't understand how Harry stands these people.
All feelings of pity dissipate the moment he finds Harry, though. He's leaning back on his bed in his room, casually texting on his phone, shirtless.
"Why are you such a fucking creep?" Louis says, throwing the lube at him, hitting him in the stomach.
Harry merely catches it before it rolls down, eyeing it appreciatively. "Oh, the expensive one. Nice."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Louis asks exasperatedly, not even bothering to wonder how Harry even knows that. Louis was the first boy who fucked him. Like, hello, Harry shouldn't know that stuff, unless he's been doing some extensive experiencing by himself. Which. Possibly. Louis feels like a bloody virgin in comparison. Which, until recently he was. Let's not talk about that, though. Let's not.
"What?" Harry says.
"You've been a complete stalker for days. What the hell did I do to you? Stop staring at me, for fuck's sake."
"You're insulting me. I feel hurt."
He looks like a fucking frog. "You look like fucking frog."
"Hey."
"Jesus Christ." Louis groans, falling back onto Harry's bed, arms spread, body shaped like a T. He feels Harry moving beside him, and he opens one eye to find him lying on his side, head propped on his elbow. He's smiling down at him, and he's lying a bit too close in Louis' opinion.
"Aw, baby," Harry murmurs, sarcasm heavy on his tongue. "Been having a rough week, huh?"
Actually, yes.
"I don't know, maybe I'd feel a lot better if some creep didn't look at me like he wants to assault me in class. You know, a pupil is supposed to feel safe in school?" He closes his eyes again. Harry's bed is pretty soft.
He feels Harry's hand on his stomach, way too big, fingers long and spindly, splaying over him obnoxiously. "Poor baby," he says, rubbing his skin under his shirt softly.
Louis squints, glancing from the touch at his belly and up at Harry's smirking face. "I'm much better now. Thank you for caressing me," he deadpans.
"Very welcome, honey." Harry smiles sweetly. "Now would you please stop fucking whining and do what you came here for."
Louis rolls his eyes, but nonetheless reaches for the lube.