Unbelievers (NOT MY OG STORY)

Chapter 8

Louis' phone is buzzing incessantly next him on his bed. It's been doing that for the last two days, namely since Friday. Louis is currently spread out like a starfish on his bed, drooling into the pillowcase his nose is flattened against. It hurts a bit, but not as much as his heart.

Wow, he's such a sad fucker. He mentally congratulates himself on simultaneously being a fucking idiot and a heartfelt poet.

The buzzing dies out, but Louis knows it will start again in an hour or so. He is not going to answer, however. He's promised himself that he won't.

Harry's been calling endlessly since after the match. He called until it was twelve, then he called once every hour yesterday, and today he's gotten seven phone calls in and it's only two o'clock. Louis glumly sits up, staring out the window. His eyes are half-lidded, hair rumpled. It's pissing down rain outside, it's almost dark and it honestly looks like the world is ending out there.

Maybe it is. Louis wouldn't mind, because who has he got? Niall's ended their friendship, Lottie is giving him the silent treatment, his mum is barely home, Mark is not his Dad anymore, and Harry's... yeah, Harry's complicated.

Louis face-plants back onto the bed. His phone starts buzzing again and he squeezes his eyes shut, moaning into the suffocating pillow.

Don't do it, Louis.

It keeps buzzing.

Don't.

Buzz.

Love yourself.

"Mrkfng," Louis groans, and reaches out to grab his phone.

He wasn't supposed to do this. When he got home from the match last Friday, he just felt so utterly pathetic and lost, all of it crashing down on him when not even Harry wanted to put up with him anymore – Harry who has kind of been his rock these last months. He started thinking. The conclusion that he came to involved feelings.

Lottie might be right; there might be a teeny, tiny chance that she could be.

There has to be a reason he didn't feel completely fucked up until Harry wasn't behind him anymore, hasn't it? There has to be a reason as to why he's felt this miserable since their fight.

But, on the off chance that he does have those kinds of feelings (strange, senseless feelings) for Harry, then those are not be encouraged. Bad, bad feelings. Now that they've been gently acknowledged, they can go back to wherever they came from (hell).

"Mrgff."

"Lou...?" Harry's voice is soft, and perhaps a bit surprised that Louis answered his phone call. His voice is warmer than Louis expected. He thought Harry was calling to fight.

He huffs in answer, the only thing he can manage. It's getting somewhat hard to breathe against the pillow now, but Louis refuses to pick his head up. He turns slightly instead, just a fraction to the side to let in some air. "Talk," he instructs quietly. If Harry's going to yell, then he should get it over with quickly.

Harry inhales on the other side of the line. It's strange how just the sound of it makes Louis' belly knot up. "I want to apologize, Lou," he starts. "Like, for several stuff."

That was literally not what Louis expected. It feels like he stops breathing, everything inside him stopping for a just a second, completely taken aback.

Harry pauses, perhaps to see if Louis is going to say anything. When he realizes that Louis isn't going to, he once again takes a deep breath. "It wasn't fair of me to do what I did before the match. First of all, it wasn't my place to tell you when or how you tell your best friend that you're gay."

"Queer," Louis mutters. Harry's voice is so bloody dark and soft. It could honest to God lull Louis back to sleep, but as it is his heart is pumping in full speed.

"Queer, then," Harry says, and Louis thinks maybe there's a smile on his lips? Is it simply wishful thinking, though? "But, yeah, it wasn't my place. Even though I respectfully think it would be better for you if you did, that is something that is up to you. Like you said, I don't get a say in that." He takes a small break.

Louis doesn't think this is quite real. How in the world have they gotten here? Harry is giving him a genuine, long bloody apology.

"Secondly," he continues. "To bring it up like that before the most important match of the year so far was seriously so fucking idiotic. You didn't need that right then, because the game was what was supposed to be the only thing on our minds, you know? Luckily our team slayed, but still... Also, thirdly," he stops, clearing his throat awkwardly.

It's quiet on the line. Louis frowns, despite the smile that was starting to grow on lips. He knows the little feelings are rejoicing, but they can go fuck themselves. Shoo.

"Harry?" Louis finally asks.

"Okay, shit." He sounds so awkward and a just a little bit pathetic. "This is going to sound fucking strange and don't think this means anything, but um. I've..."

"You've...?"

"Err–"

"For fuck's sake, spit it out." Louis rolls his eyes.

Harry inhales an amount of air that probably could fill an entire balloon. "I've got your back."

Oh.

Louis rolls over, leaving the phone resting beside him on the bed. Inhale, exhale. No, this is so not good. Not good at all. Louis was so supposed to keep composed so the annoying butterflies in his stomach would starve to death in lack of Harry related things to feed on. It's been two days and Louis' already handed them a silver plate of what they want.

Using the words of Blair Waldorf: Louis loves God's all creatures (kind of), but these butterflies need to be murdered. There is no such place for them here. Do they not understand that they're unwanted? Undesired. Detested. Go away.

Although, Louis can't exactly blame them despite his animosity towards them; after all, here he is, putting the phone to his ear once again.

"Erm," Louis says. He coughs. Harry's quiet on the other side of the line, but Louis can hear him breathing. He can almost picture him covering his face in embarrassment. "So... I'm going to hang up now? And then you'll call again and we'll pretend it never happened."

"Okay, good."

They're quiet for another moment. "But I'll know, okay," Louis can't help but add before he quickly terminates the call.

Dear goodness.

He calls Harry up again. "So, do you want a blowjob or something? Because I'm kind of bored."

Because I miss you.

Once their second phone call has ended, Louis crawls off the bed. He eyes himself in the mirror, and just like a couple of months ago he thinks he resembles a fluffy pigeon a little too much. His hair is ruffled and standing on end, his eyes puffy. He looks almost the same as he did then, though maybe his cheekbones are a little more prominent, the angles of his face sharper. He's older.

You can't really see it, but he's also queer and probably not-so-much-hates Harry Styles. Strange things.

Walking downstairs he's shirtless, only in a pair of sweats and sports socks, figuring Harry's going to undress him later anyway. He rubs his neck, feeling a slight ache as he's been sleeping strangely these last nights.

"Oh," he says when he comes into the living room, having heard voices from there. Lottie and Jay are sitting on the couch, snuggled up in blankets. They're watching Ice Age and if it weren't for the fact that Lottie hates him and Harry's coming over, Louis probably would have joined them. "You're home?" he asks his mum.

Jay smiles up at him, for once looking well rested. "Yes," she says. "Did you forget, honey?"

"Yeah, I guess." He sinks his hands into the pockets of his sweats, pursing his lips. Sid on the TV screen just realized everyone has left without him, and Louis watches him converse with the huge mammal as his eyebrows knit. Harry will be coming over and Louis didn't think his mum would be home today. There's no way he can just sneak him upstairs without her noticing, and unlike Harry's parents Jay actually knows that he and Harry aren't very friendly. Weren't. Anyway.

"What're you frowning for?" Jay asks.

"Oh, nothing. Just tired, I think." He can feel Lottie watching him, but she looks away when he meets her eyes.

"Well, you've had the entire day to wake up, darling. Grab some breakfast, will you?"

He mumbles an answer, heading to the kitchen. It's still pouring outside, raindrops smattering against the windows. There's still hot tea water in the pot so Louis makes himself some, strategically choosing a larger cup because he knows from experience that Harry will drain half of it before Louis gets a chance to let it cool.

He spreads some butter on a piece of toast, but opts for some ham on top because Harry isn't that fond of meat. Louis won't succumb to him more than he already has, because just the fact that he knows that isn't ideal. Sometimes it feels like he knows Harry too well, yet other times not quite at all.

The knock on the door comes soon enough – Louis hadn't even given cancelling their plans a single thought – and he leaves his tea and toast on the worktop. He trudges into the hall, opening the front door to a dripping Harry.

He's in a coat, navy hoodie sticking up around the collar. His curls are a little damp, but the dimples in his cheeks are prominent as he steps inside, shrugging off his jacket. He smiles down at Louis who keeps himself composed, trying not to smile back too widely.

"Hey," he says timidly, and the way his hands reach for the fabric of Harry's hoodie almost seems automatic. He fists the sides of his shirt, bringing him closer. Harry drops his jacket onto a nearby chair and steps out of his wet shoes, proceeding to wind his arms around Louis' neck.

The hug is tentative, but warm. Louis all of a sudden wants to apologize too, but his eloquence with words is lacking deeply. He hopes he can put across some of it in actions. He doesn't want Harry to be upset with him either.

"Have you forgiven me?" Harry murmurs into his hair, just behind his ear.

Louis humbly nods, forehead pressed against his shoulder. He shouldn't have been that angry in the first place. Harry was probably right about him being able to make his life easier, but either way Harry can't tell him when to share something this personal. Louis has a bit of a blockage when it comes to deep things. They're so far down on the list of things he can cooperate with.

Harry's fingers are soft when they brush through the hair at Louis' nape. His hands are always so bloody gentle. His arms leave Louis' shoulders and his warm hands smoothly slide over his skin, gripping his waist. The touch is gentle, yet firm and possessive, almost. Not in a showy way, but the grip is natural and firm, like it's supposed to be that way. Louis ignores that last thought solely for the sake of his own sanity.

Harry squeezes his waist, bringing their lower bellies together. His lips feather-lightly brush along his jaw and Louis almost closes his eyes. He could get lost in this. He could quite literally let Harry take him right here. He can imagine him taking him apart. They've never even done that and he's fairly certain Harry doesn't like doing that sort of thing. Maybe someday, though.

"Mum's home," he finally manages to get out. Harry instantly leans away, leaving several inches of space between them. Louis is as relieved as he is disappointed. He keeps his fingers clutched around the excess material of Harry's shirt, not letting him get too far away. "Sorry, I forgot."

"It's okay. Should I go?"

"No," Louis says, just as his mother calls from the living room.

"Honey, who's here?"

"Err, fuck. C'mon." He gently grabs Harry's shirtsleeve, pulling him with him toward the living room. Harry's footsteps are slow, perhaps he's a bit nervous, but he comes with, staying close to Louis' side when he stops at the entrance of the room.

"Oh, hello." Jay greets, surprise evident on her face.

Louis bites his cheek, refusing to give in to the hotness building up the back of his neck. "Mum, this is Harry."

"Hello, Mrs. Tomlinson," Harry greets politely, waving awkwardly where he's standing. Jay looks at Louis at first just for a moment, obviously confused. Of course, she knows his and Harry's relationship has changed a lot this year – just from watching the footie matches anyone could tell, but it's not like Louis has been completely honest.

It feels so incredibly strange introducing Harry to his mother. Harry's been here countless times while she was sleeping, and he's sucked Louis off and given him handjobs in the middle of the night. It's been months.

Jay starts to get up, untangling herself from Lottie and the blankets, but Harry interrupts. "No, no, it's fine. Don't get up. It's okay, we don't want to bother you. We were just going to say hi." Harry gives Louis quick glance, and he nods in confirmation. "Hi," he adds. Louis' entire stomach flip-flops.

"Yeah, we're headed upstairs," he says, clearing his throat.

Lottie scoffs conspicuously loudly, and Louis' eyes flicker to her in alarm. She isn't looking at him though, only keeps on an indignant frown, eyes on her nails. Harry's hand is hovering over the small of Louis' back, keeping him settled.

Louis' mum nods, giving them a small smile. Louis in relief realizes she might accept Louis' simple introduction, however, he's quite certain there will be interrogating questions later.

"See you later," Louis says, grabbing Harry's sleeve again. He remembers his breakfast just on the way up, and drags Harry along, back into the kitchen.

"Does she hate me?" Harry asks, grimacing a little.

Why do you care? The question is automatic in his head, but it doesn't feel right. It's strange, but the question isn't warranted anymore. Not at all.

"No," Louis says instead, leaning against the counter. "She's probably just confused."

"Yeah," Harry nods, taking Louis' teacup out of his hands, gulping down at least a third. Louis bats at his tummy.

"Mine," he sighs, but doesn't take it back. He takes a bite of his toast instead, looking up at where Harry's nose is buried in the big cup. "How come your parents weren't surprised?"

It's a bold question, really bold, and he can see Harry tense up instantly. Why don't your parents know me as your mortal enemy? Why don't they come to your football games? Why didn't they know you're captain?

They never talked about this. Louis ate Harry out instead. Clearly they're good at avoiding heavy subjects. But Louis is asking now, and meanwhile he waits for an answer Harry takes another gulp of the hot tea, shoulders stiff.

He finally looks up. "Football... is like." He purses his lips, eyes locked on the teacup. His voice is strange when he continues. "It isn't important."

"But you love football," Louis murmurs, brows knitting together.

"But it's not important enough."

Louis is about to disagree; football is the most important thing on the planet, Louis' life relies on it for Christ sake. He's also pretty certain that it's one of the few things Harry genuinely loves, but Harry hands Louis back the cup after that and turns around, efficiently putting an end to the subject.

Louis can tell, though. He can tell those words aren't Harry's. Louis boxes this away, because it's obvious that Harry doesn't want to talk about it. Louis isn't up for a fight; he just wants a calm day in bed to be entirely honest.

He picks up his toast, and pushes at the small of Harry's back to direct him towards the stairs. His shoulder blades seem tense, posture a little stiff as he walks. Louis' hand instinctively softens, simply resting there comfortably.

As they get out in the hallway, Louis' hand has slipped in under his shirt, fingertips light at the bottom of Harry's spine. They're just about to head up when Jay calls from the living room. Louis sighs, peeking into the room, Harry still at his side.

"Before you go and disappear upstairs, I was going to tell you today," she sends a small look Harry's way, but continues. "In two weeks the girls and I are going away for the weekend. Just Lots, Fizzy and I. We're heading to a spa, get some relaxing and bonding time in, you know? Just us girls."

Louis purses his lips, eyebrows going up and down in a single movement. "Lovely." His hand curls into a fist under Harry's shirt. Family bonding. How cute. Sounds brilliant.

"Honey?" Jay asks, but Louis only walks upstairs, Harry not far behind him.

Louis dumps the teacup and half-eaten toast on the nightstand, before he digs his hands under a pillow and flattens out on the bed. He hides his face in the soft pillow, breathing slowly. He feels when the bed dips, Harry crawling up on the bed. He sneaks a glance; Harry's curled his knees to his chest, back resting against the headboard.

"Tired?" Harry asks.

"Hmm."

"Have you slept all day?"

"Hmm."

Harry's voice is low and gravelly, and it sounds as if he's been in bed all day too. Louis feels him shuffle a little – then his light fingertip is tapping on his back. The touch is simple, just a small brush of skin against his, a little contact, completely delicate. It starts as almost just a little scratch, but goose bumps pop up Louis' back when Harry's finger slides upward, continuing to move in tiny circles.

It's a little wonderful.

"You've got a birthmark under your shoulder blade."

"I know."

"Haven't seen it before," he murmurs. His fingers trace down Louis' spine, the sensation calming yet making his pulse tick faster. Stupid feelings. Die. Harry's fingers still for a moment, Louis closes his eyes.

"Don't stop."

His fingers gently start moving again, making up random patterns as they go. They stray to Louis' side once, making his belly jump.

"Ticklish?" Harry wonders, and Louis thinks there might be a smile on his lips.

"Little," he murmurs back. He lets out a long sigh, squeezing the pillow closer to his chest.

"You okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Harry wonders, hand flattening out over Louis' spine.

Before Louis can answer there's a knock on the door. "What?" he calls, rolling over on his side.

Surprisingly it turns out it isn't his Mum bothering him, but Lottie. He sits up quickly when she walks in, Harry's hand falling away. "What are you doing here?" he asks. She hasn't spoken to him in what feels like ages (it's a couple of days, but whatever).

Lottie crosses her arms, hip popped as she speaks. "I want to go for a drive. Can we go?"

Louis hesitates. This is completely unexpected and coming out of nowhere. She hasn't shown a sign wanting to patch things up with him. Both of them are quite good at holding grudges – they're Tomlinsons after all – but hey, they've also never been good at not being friends. On one hand, he's extremely tired and a day in bed watching movies with Harry would have been perfect, but on the other, he doesn't want to skip an opportunity to make up with Lottie. She's his sister after all, even if she said some horrible things to him.

"So," Lottie says when he hasn't answered in a moment. "Do you want to go or not?"

"Okay," he nods. "Harry, get me the shirt over there, thanks."

"See you downstairs," Lottie mutters and leaves the room.

"Can I come?" Harry asks, reaching towards the floor, fetching the simple, grey shirt Louis discarded last night. "This smells a bit," he remarks.

"Well, you're not going to be smelling me are you?"

"Just get another."

"Fine, pick one then."

Harry stands from the bed, yawning as he walks over to the dresser. He starts rifting through the top drawer. "Can I come then?"

"Oh," Louis says, cheeks suddenly burning. "Sorry, I didn't ask. I thought you wanted to since, you know, last time was... fun." Fuck, it's warm in here. Harry doesn't seem to notice anything though, still looking through the drawer. Louis looks away, awkwardly patting the duvet below him.

"Right," Harry finally says, walking back over and holding up a black t-shirt with a white Adidas print. "Here, stand." He holds up the shirt.

"Are you dressing me?" Louis asks.

"Just slip your arms in, will you? You're so bloody slow."

Louis grumbles, but nevertheless reaches up and lets Harry slip the shirt down over his body. He pats his shoulders gently, before he grabs his forearms and drags him up from the bed. Louis sighs, following easily. He stumbles into him when he stands and it almost scares him how easily Harry fits him into his side, keeping him upright.

Louis coughs awkwardly, but lets Harry's arm rest around his waist as they walk downstairs. It's nothing. It's nothing. It's nothing.

They meet Lottie downstairs, and Louis completely ignores how she looks at Harry's arm fitted around him. He knows what she's thinking, and yeah, he's thinking it too. However, it's nothing.

They get on the road. It's tentative and somewhat stiff. The rain is pissing down, smattering against the windows, clouding Louis' sight. He mumbles instructions and Lottie grumbles answers, while Harry sits silently in the back. Louis wonders why he even wanted to come. Being in an environment filled with palpable tension isn't exactly how Louis would want to spend his Sunday.

It's not until Lottie starts to wholeheartedly ignore what Louis' saying that the suffering silence breaks. When he clearly orders her to turn left, she stomps the gas and continues strictly forward.

"What are you doing, Lottie?" he asks sternly. She doesn't answer, and Louis starts to worry. He glances back at Harry, who seems a little uncertain as well. "Right, just take the next left then and we'll go back."

When they reach the next crossroad, Lottie turns right. She hits the gas, and Louis grips the edges of his seat, eyes wide. "Lottie! What are you doing?"

She doesn't answer, and neither does she slow down. She keeps her eyes on the road, hands tight on the wheel. She is driving way too fast, and Louis doesn't trust her to take them wherever they're going safely.

"Hello?! Where the hell are we going?" he demands, cringing as the scenery flashes by. "Lottie! Stop the car."

"No," she says evenly.

"Charlotte! I have a responsibility of what we're doing here. You need to listen to me, if you don't this could end seriously badly. This isn't okay!"

It's dead quiet in the car, not a sound coming from the back either.

"Pull the fuck over."

"Nope."

Louis looks up, wincing as he spots an approaching car farther down the road. "You better stop this car right now," he growls. They're most definitely going to die. Lottie isn't that bad of a driver, but she lacks of experience and he doesn't trust her at all. "I'm never driving with you again."

Lottie slows down a little as they pass the other car, Louis' heart rate already running too fast. He looks over his shoulder, catching the look of Harry leaning back in his seat, looking white and nervous. Christ. Louis is about to yell when he suddenly sees the sign with the street name on. Water flies up by the curb when Lottie runs through a puddle.

"No fucking way," he says, voice tight. "I cannot believe you."

"I'm not sorry, Lou."

"Fucking traitor," he hisses. This isn't okay – this isn't fine. Especially not in front of Harry. Louis would never in a million years thought that Lottie would do something like this to him. Fuck, he should have known. Of course Lottie suddenly hadn't forgiven him and decided she wanted them to be friends again. It should have been obvious that something wasn't right, but then how was he supposed to know she'd do something like this? He closes his eyes as Lottie slows down, turning into a smaller street. "Stop the car," he says, voice low this time, hand covering his eyes.

"No."

"Charlotte–"

"I don't care what you say."

Louis raises his voice. "It doesn't matter what you do, okay? This isn't going to happen. It's not up to you, do you not understand that? Everything isn't going to be fine if you lock us in a room for a few minutes. It doesn't work that way."

His sister doesn't answer, so Louis stares palely out the window. This isn't fine.

Eventually the car comes to a jerky stop down the street. The house where they've stopped is in red bricks, the windowpanes white and it looks too proper, too fresh and new. Lottie shuts off the engine, taking the key out and stuffing it into her pocket.

"Louis," she says seriously. "Dad's in there, Fizzy too. I'm going inside. I highly suggest you do, too. Harry, you can come as well."

Louis doesn't answer, only stares straight out the window in front of him. The raindrops are gathering in heavy lumps against it, the sound making Louis' head spin instead of making him feel calm like it usually would. The car is too quiet, tension so heavy it's palpable. Somebody cut could it with a knife, or stick a needle through it and something would explode.

"So," Lottie murmurs after a few minutes, voice a tad softer. She reaches out and touches his arm. "Are you coming?"

He turns to face her, looking her dead in the eye. "Not a fucking chance in hell."

He doesn't flinch when her face falls, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She looks down, her hair covering her face as she undoes her seatbelt, opening the car door. "Screw you, Lou," she whispers, before getting out and slamming the door in his face.

God.

Louis leans back in the seat, closing his eyes. He doesn't want to watch Lottie knock on the front door and walk inside, knowing that Mark is in there. Louis doesn't want to be here. The air feels suffocating, like someone's draining the vehicle of all air.

"Can't fucking breathe in here," he swears after a long moment, thick with tension. He rips the seatbelt off and jumps out of the car. The rain wets his face instantly, and he pulls the hoodie over his head. The pavement outside the brick house's yard is gravelly and the puddles are growing. Louis' sneakers get sodden quickly as he walks around the car, leaning against the side.

Fucking God.

He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut tightly. His hands are locked in fists in the pocket of his hoodie. Fuck. He can't do this. He's right in there. His dad – no, stepdad, who isn't even his fucking stepdad anymore. Just Mark. Who isn't anything anymore. Not in relation to Louis anyway.

He hears the car door open, but he doesn't want to look up. By now Mark surely knows he's out here, perhaps he's already gazing out the window at him.

Louis couldn't turn around, he could never bear to face him. What would he say? What would he do? There's no possibility of a good outcome. The only plausible outcome is Louis being left feeling like something equivalent to being run over by a truck.

His hoodie is cold and wet all the way through. Why does everything have to be so fucking hard?

He groans, leaning back and facing the sky. Cold droplets land on his skin as he hears the sound of Harry's footsteps stopping next to him. His arm brushes against his, leaning back against the car by his side.

Louis wonders if he's going to say anything, if he's going to ask what the hell is going on. Louis wouldn't know what to answer.

"I knew that your parents had split," Harry says lowly, voice almost vulnerable for whatever reason. "I didn't know it was this complicated."

"Yeah, well," Louis mutters, surprising himself with how even his voice is. "It is." He glances to his right. Harry's eyebrows are knit, mouth pressed together in a line, corners of his mouth pointing down. His shoulders are too stiff. He's blinking too fast.

"Is it, like, how–" He cuts himself off, shaking his head and his voice has gone rough. "I don't–"

Louis tries not to think, just say the words calmly. Explain it. "He's not my dad. Not really. When I was little my mum remarried and Lottie was born. They got divorced before last summer started."

It's been almost a year, he realizes. It feels like a lifetime. They used to be family, proper and all.

"He's, um. I used to call him 'Dad', but he's not. He didn't want me." He clears his throat. "Well, it took him six months to realize he might after all. So..." Louis kicks off the car, jumping up and down once, trying to gather some warmth. His eyes are not wet. It's rain.

Harry looks up finally, meeting his eyes. "Did you know before?" he whispers. "Could you feel it before they told you?"

He knows why Harry is asking, how can he not? There's a reason Louis can't stand being around Harry's parents – it reminds him of how his own home used to be like before it happened. Harry knows it's coming, he must.

Louis takes a careful step forward. "Of course I did."

Harry presses his lips together once again, inhaling deeply. His cheeks are bitten by the hard-hitting wind, the apples pink, and eyes shiny.

Louis speaks slowly. "Even though we're opposites, we're not that different, Styles."

Harry nods. Reality check; they've both got dysfunctional families. In Harry's case it just isn't official yet.

It's all too similar. Louis' dad hasn't been to a single one of Louis' footie matches this season. He used to be at every one of them, cheering him on and giving him pep talks and discussed the match with him afterwards. Not anymore.

"Does it still hurt?"

"All the time."

Harry nods. Then he shakes his head. "Why is everything shit?"

"Yep. It always is, isn't it?" He shakes his head as well, chuckling. "It's even fucking raining."

"Bloody perfect."

"Your hair is wet."

"Well, you look like a drenched puppy, babe."

Babe. Again. He's said it before. "Drenched puppy?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean you find me cute then?" He arches a brow and takes the remaining steps forward, leaning against Harry. His jeans are wet, and their thighs flush against one another feels cool.

Harry purses his lips. "Do you know what people do in the rain?

"Yeah?" He winds his arms around Harry's neck, trying to accommodate to his attempt at a distraction. They tend to be very good at those, the distractions, so when Harry's hands go to Louis' hips it's to have him arch into him. Louis comes easily, warmth swimming through his body despite the horrible weather as he puts his chest against Harry's. "What do they do then?"

"I'll give you a guess," Harry murmurs, eyes locked on Louis' lips.

Louis smiles, standing on his toes, making their chins bump. He purses his lips once, just a little but it's enough to let their lips touch. "I don't know, tell me."

Harry' nose slots against his, cheek pressed against cheek. "Show you," he murmurs softly, pushing their lips together.

If Louis could describe how it feels getting kissed by Harry like this he'd probably have better English grades. As it is, his grade is pretty low so there will be no extravagant descriptions. He can feel it in his toes though. Harry sends a wave of hotness through his body by his plush lips alone. Louis could do this for hours; Harry's tongue warm in his mouth, simply sliding with his, licking the roof of his mouth, his lips sucking Louis' swollen. It's a good distraction, it really is. Louis' breath is heavy within moments, and Harry's hands tighten on his back.

"You're so wet," Harry murmurs, fists clenching around Louis' hoodie.

Louis snorts a laugh, throwing his head back, cackling. "You did not just say that, love."

Harry eyes him for a moment, leaning in so their lips are still touching. Then he gets it, and groans. "I meant your jumper," he moans, hugging him close and kissing his jaw.

"I know," Louis grins, leaning up to put his mouth on Harry's again.

They kiss until Louis is fairly certain they'll both get hypothermia. Harry's cheeks are too cold against his and it's starting to feel like he's holding on to Louis' body for warmth rather than sexual interests.

"Are you okay?" Louis giggles, thumbs stroking Harry's neck on either side.

"Let's get inside the car, yeah?" Harry says, shivering almost violently.

"Okay," Louis has time to say before Harry tightens his arms around his waist and lifts him up, walking around the car without much effort. "Oh my god," Louis laughs, face pressed to his neck. He smells so perfect. Fuck everything, he could just stay hidden there for the rest of the day.

Harry steps onto the sidewalk, still carrying him and opens the door to the backseat. Then he has to actually let Louis go, but they crawl in, shivering in their wet clothes. Harry's curls are sticking to his temples and cheeks, his lips the only things about him still looking warm. Harry's hands are pale and shaking, and he blows hot air onto them. Louis leans to his side, trying to steal some worth.

"This wasn't good," he says.

"Excuse you, my kisses are excellent."

Louis bats at him. "I meant the standing in the rain part. Imagine if both of the team's captains are sick for the semi-final game."

Harry watches him for a moment. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah," Louis admits quietly. Harry is on his right, closest to the sidewalk, but Louis stares out the window, at the house on Harry's side. Harry follows his gaze, the car quiet and a little cold.

"Me too," he says slowly.

They fall into a comfortable silence, both of them simply staring at Louis' former stepfather's house. Louis has no idea after how long it happens, but eventually Harry takes Louis' hand where it's resting on top of his thigh. They don't say anything, Louis doesn't protest and neither does he feel the need to. When they're alone everything is fine.

They stay there, fingers linked on top of Louis' leg for the rest of the time they wait. Eventually Harry closes his eyes, head leaning back against the seat. He looks like he could fall asleep any moment, but Louis can't tear his own eyes from the house.

His dad is in there, his sisters as well, and he can't help but wonder if he shouldn't be in there too.

When Lottie finally stomps back to the car, Harry has fallen asleep and their hands are warm. Louis squeezes Harry's once before finally letting go. They drive home in complete silence.

**

When Louis walks into the diner he's met with the sight of a herd rowdy boys gathered around two booths, most of them members of the footie team. He isn't sure what he expected when he received a text message from Liam at work after school, but he wasn't really prepared for this. Greg smiled at him kindly when Louis told him he hadn't hung out with the boys in ages, and let him leave early.

It's a few days after Lottie's impromptu father visit.

He walks up to the nearest booth the lads are crowded around by the window. It's seven-thirty-ish, but it's April and the sun is still up and the unusually busy street is visible from the inside.

"'Sup, lads," he says, putting up a little smirk on his face as he leans against the side of the booth. It's been too long since he hung out with them all like this.

"Hey!" Lee says, looking up from under his dark brown fringe. "Yo, you showed!"

"Louis!" Liam grins, holding three chips between his fingers.

"You ordered already?" Louis arches a brow.

"Um," Liam says, looking sheepish. "Sorry, we didn't think you'd show up. You never do, really." He coughs awkwardly, and the rest of the boys seem to shift uncomfortably or cast their eyes down.

Louis wonders when he stopped being reliable, stopped being a constant in the group. It hits him how strangely mutual it feels. He doesn't feel very much part of the gang anymore. He and Harry seem to have holed themselves away.

"It's fine," he says easily. "As long as you make room for me in the middle. Move over, Oli."

Oli rolls his eyes, but complies, everyone around the table grinning with ease again as Louis shuffles in to sit between Liam and Oli. Lee, Stan, and Ed are on the other side, the table between them all filled with napkins, drinks, dippers, chips and burgers. It's greasy and Louis should probably be yelling at them for pigging out like this before the upcoming semi-final game, but he doesn't. The boys deserve a break, it's a week and a half left until the match, and besides, Harry and Greg always tell him to relax a bit. Maybe he should listen.

"Chips, Lewis?" Lee offers.

He shakes his head. "No, thanks." The boys roll their eyes. "Oi, you can stuff yourselves with carbs, you filthy animals. I'm not stopping you, but I'm not gonna."

Mostly he's just tired of being the one always controlling everything and making sure everything's on point. He just wants to be able to relax for once. Sadly, with some things it seems like he can't – at least not when it comes to himself.

"Even Harry is less strict than you," Ed says.

"And Harry eats carrots and cauliflower for breakfast," Oli snorts, making the other boys laugh.

"Harry doesn't like cauliflower," Louis mutters before he even realizes what he's saying. He doesn't even know how he knew that.

His voice is overshadowed by the boys' laughter, but Liam seems to have caught his words. Louis feels his eyes on him, all the while his neck starts feeling hot.

"Is this diet?" he asks Liam, pointing at his cup of coke.

"Ye–"

"Cool." He grabs the drink, sipping tensely from the straw, shoulders tight.

"Speaking of Mr. Yoga," Stan chuckles. "Harry had a love bite the size of Mars on his ribs a couple of weeks ago."

Louis nearly chokes. His heel accidentally clashes into Liam's shin, making him audibly gasp and wince.

"Sorry," Louis says, eyes fastened on Stan in front of him.

"Yes!" Lee says, banging his hand against the table, making Ed jump and nearly drop his dippers in the process. "I knew I wasn't the only one who saw it!"

"He has them all the time, too," Oli chips in.

"It was huge, like definitely a ten minute project," Lee continues. His enthusiasm reminds Louis terribly of Niall, and he's hit by a heavy feeling in his gut. At this point he only feels dull thinking of his best friend. "It has got to be at least a little bit painful."

"Yep. Remember when he pretended he didn't know what I was talking about when I asked who he was shagging?" Stan laughs. "As if they haven't been showing up in different spots all year. He's definitely got a regular fuck."

Okay. Louis has missed out on a lot of things here. Is this a topic of discussion among the team these days? Harry is not being careful enough. Louis should also stop leaving love bites over his entire body. His nice little body. Christ. Relax Louis. Fucking butterflies.

"You sure seem invested," he snaps.

"It's hard not to notice! How did he expect to keep it a secret? We all shower together."

"Lads, you can all relax, I asked him about it," Ed says calmly.

He did what.

"What did he say?" Louis is the quickest to ask, unable to help himself. His leg restlessly jumps under the table. He needs to know. He has got to know.

"You know, you two have been unusually impassive toward each other. Why are you interested?" Stan arches a brow back at him, but Louis senses he's only retaliating for Louis' little snip earlier.
He shrugs. "Missed his birthday, didn't I? Need to gather some intel. Come on now, lad, tell me something valuable."

Ed shrugs, flicking some of his ginger hair off his forehead. He's been talking about cutting it lately. "He said it's good sex."

Louis stares at the boy. Is that all? You're not going to go into explicit detail? Not explain if he said it tenderly? If he seemed indifferent? Was he honest, does he genuinely like the person who leaves marks on his skin? Did it seem like he had freakishly annoying fucking things in his stomach when he talked? For god's sake.

"Is that all?" he deadpans.

The rest of the boys turn to Ed, eyebrows arched. "More information, please," Lee says.

Louis carefully brings the cup to his mouth. He casually taps his finger against it, hand is clenched around it tensely. He sips, sips, sips.

"That's all."

Come on.

"What is this?" Louis shakes his head, starting to stand. "You're all a bunch of gossips, yet you can't tell me something worthy of my attention?" He sighs, crawling out of the booth, elbowing Liam in the go. When he finally gets out, he sighs and mutters, "I need some fucking water. This dry taste of fucking conversation is parching."

He walks up to the cashier where a younger woman and a man are standing behind the counter, grimly watching Louis' mates make a mess in the corner of the diner. Working in the fro-yo shop, Louis knows what an inconvenience it is when people are loud and cause trouble. He hopes they don't hate them.

"Can I have a water, please?" he requests.

"Bottled or tap?"

"Tap's fine."

"It's free."

"Cool."

He waits while the girl finds him a glass and fills it. She hands it over, but he stays by the till, giving himself a moment before he has to go back to the table. He loves his mates, they're good fun, but talking about Harry is stressing him out. Thinking about Harry he could do for ages when he's alone (there are loads of things; curls, legs, bum, hip rolling technique, lip plumpness, cock, smile, his laugh) but talking about it like this only makes him think about the worrying stuff (feelings, hand-holding, coming out?, flappy insects in the stomach area).

He shakes his head, taking a large sip of the water. He brings his phone up and taps into his messages, thumb hovering over his conversation with Harry. His name in Louis' phone book is simply his name, but Louis has recently had the urge to make it something more personal. He tends to use emojis for his friends' names, or make jokes out of them. Take Oli, who is simply an olive emoji. Harry is one of the most important people in his life right now. He should have an emoji.

The door to the diner opens several times, the bell chiming loudly and interrupting Louis' trail of thoughts. He presses the home button and exits his messages, pushing his phone into his pocket. He can talk to Harry later. He's supposed to be socializing.

He looks up, internally sagging as soon as he sees who's arrived. Girls. Jasmine and her pals, to be more exact. He has been avoiding her like the plague since the bathroom incident. He walks back over to his own table. It's darker outside now, the sun having almost set as he sits down next to Liam at the end of the booth.

"Wey, you're back," Stan grins. "Look." He points at where Jasmine and her friends are sitting down at one of the tables on the other side of the room. "Girls!"

"I have eyes, thanks," Louis says haughtily.

Stan snorts. "You're so bloody uptight. When was the last time you hooked up with anyone anyway? Did you even get a New Year's kiss? Are girls even on your radar?"

The fuck does he know. The fuck does Louis know. Does he like girls at all anymore? Currently what's on his radar is football and Harry, and there isn't much space for anything else. How is he supposed to even figure that out if all he can see when he thinks of love and sex is Harry's fucking dimples and his greeny, green eyes?

"The summer party at Jonny's!" Lee remembers. "You and Hannah by the pool!"

"Don't remind me," Louis mutters.

"That is so not the spirit," Stan says, sighing. "Come on, you gotta live a little. We'll invite the girls over and you can get with the brunette. She's been pining for you all year."

"You are so annoying." Louis shakes his head, staring at Stan. The other boy stares back, and it turns to a bit of a competition of who can gaze the longest without blinking or faltering. They end up laughing.

Louis shakes his head, chuckling. "Mate, go ahead and go for her, I'm not interested."

"As if that matters, she's only into you," he retorts exasperatedly. "What's holding you back?" He stares at Louis expectantly, who feels the rest of the boys' eyes on him as well.

"She's not my... type."

The boys collectively sigh and Louis grimaces indignantly. Seriously. He rolls his eyes, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Actually," Liam says, "I think Louis is right. If he's not into her then it's just mean to lead her on for a shag."

"Thank you."

Stan groans. "I hate you lads, you're so lame. Yo!" he then calls. "Claire!" A blonde girl at Jasmine's table looks up, then waves enthusiastically. "Yes, Claire! Babe, get your party over here, we'll make room."

Louis rolls his eyes, mentally sending daggers at his mate that's usually not this bloody persistent. It's probably because he has a thing for the Claire girl, Louis thinks in displeasure.

Soon the girls have brought their stuff over, and Oli and Ed move a table to fit it next to their booth, not even noticing the glare the man behind the counter sends them. They chatter happily and Louis gives a quick smile at their greetings. Jasmine pops down in the chair next to Louis closest to the booth. He can't help but think that Harry wouldn't be a fan of it.

"Hey! Louis!" Jasmine says lightly, smiling happily. "How are you?"

"Fine, you?"

"Brilliant," she grins. She's in a black polo, her long hair shiny where it falls over her shoulder. Her lips are painted in dark red, mouth full and teeth white. Objectively Louis could easily say that she's beautiful.

He nods slowly, the silence between them feeling rather palpable suddenly. "Right," he says, hand landing on his thigh loudly, turning everyone's attention on him. "I'm gonna go. Got a paper due in two weeks." He gives a quick, rather insincere smile before he waves and stands, turning to head out.

The boys roll their eyes, but Louis can't be bothered. He gets out into the fresh air, feeling a little less suffocated. However, the door doesn't close when he expects it too.

"Hey, Lou! Louis."

Louis turns, shoulders tight. It's Jasmine. She catches up with him just outside, hand catching his arm. She leaves it there.

"Hi?" His brows rise as if he's confused to what she could want, but he's not stupid. If Stan is right then she's into him, or she – according to Harry – it's Harry she wants to get to. Lately though, that possibility seems less and less plausible. Would she really continue all year? Harry hasn't even been in near distance all these last times Louis' encountered her. Maybe she just has a misplaced, unrequited crush? Or perhaps, she's just simply being friendly.

Honestly, Louis can't tell. If he could he obviously wouldn't be fussing this much about what Harry's real feelings are.

Jasmine meets his eyes, seeming sincere. "How are you, really?"

His brows knit. "What do you mean?"

She sighs, ticking her head to the side. Her eyes are uncomfortably sympathetic. "I know you were crying that day, Lou."

Louis rolls his eyes, running a hand over his face. In what world does she believe he would ever want to talk to her about this? Everybody who knows him knows that he hates talking about his feelings, and worse, he loathes crying. Literally, why would he want to have this conversation outside a diner?

"Jas, I'm fine. We're not talking about this." He turns to leave, but her hand is persistent around his arm.

"Louis, you can talk to me." She tucks a strand of long, brown hair behind her ear, her matching eyes blinking nervously. "I know it's a little forward, but I really think you could use talking to someone. Losing your best friend is hard, I would know." Her mouth tilts down, but her thumb strokes Louis' arm warmly.

Louis dubiously takes a step back. He doesn't know how to react to this, honestly. "Jas, babe. I'm sorry if you've lost a friend or something, but I haven't. Niall's still my best mate, that hasn't changed. Thanks for your concern, really, but I'm good. I'll see you, around."

He squeezes her hand once, and then lets her drop it when he turns to leave. He takes in the expression on her face, her mouth pulled into a small 'O'. Rejection. He feels bad, he's truly sorry, but he can't act the way she wants. They just couldn't be friends.

God, this is not a problem he wanted to deal with.

He leaves her standing outside the diner, swiftly hurrying to his car. He should go home, do some homework, or something. Maybe try to share a sentence or two with Lottie. Perhaps.

Before Louis opens the car door, someone taps his shoulder. He turns around, scared it's Jasmine who hasn't had enough yet. It's not her though, and he wonders why he even thought it would be. She's just a girl, why would she seek out another opportunity to be turned down?

In the end, it turns out it's Liam. He looks like he's jogged, probably to catch Louis before he leaves. "Hey, man."

"What's up?" Louis asks, raising a brow.

"Just wanted to tell you," Liam says, smiling crookedly. "I know Harry's best friend pretty well. He told me Harry's said his person is – Harry's words – a pretty fucking good person. He said they're cute when they sing in the shower when they think no one can hear, and his eyes are very lovely." Liam grins, before he slaps Louis on the shoulder and jogs off toward his own car.

Louis is left gaping, entirely breathless. Liam said "his". The butterflies are thriving.

**

So, Liam knows.

Louis contemplates this while he cleans off the counter at the shop the next day, brows furrowed. He supposes he should be angry, knowing that Harry's friends are leaving loose ends all over the place. Surprisingly, most of all to himself, he's not. He doesn't quite know how, but he's not worried. Maybe it's because of how nice Liam sounded, or how sweet he looked when he smiled a little impishly as he called Harry's fuck his person. Louis quite likes that word. Maybe Harry has become Louis' person, too, in some ways.

He doesn't know how Liam figured it out, but it's oddly comforting that he did. Louis trusts him.

Who else knows? Harry's family, Lottie, and Zayn. Maybe even Sophia. Couples tell each other everything, right?

Speaking of Zayn. Niall.

The two of them are evidently friends these days. Maybe Niall even knows. What if he does? Would Louis be able to skip the whole coming out chapter? In a way he really wishes that'd be the case, but at the same time not. He doesn't want it coming from anyone other than himself. He still doesn't know how, though, but he wants to. Suddenly for the first time there's actual longing to just spit it out. He wants to tell his best friend. He wants to be free of it.

He needs to take a breather after he realizes that, because wow if that doesn't feel heavenly to finally come to. He wants to tell. He just has got to find the right moment.

"What are you smiling about?" Greg says, and Louis finds him grinning down at him, hip against the counter. Louis lifts a brow in return, smirking back.

"Nothing. I'm just in a good mood."

"That's nice. How come?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. Maybe it's because he feels like he's got people to catch him now, just in case. His smile broadens.

"Sure, you do! What is this?" Greg laughs. "You're all sunny." He eyes Louis, lingering on his face for a moment. His voice is soft. "It suits you."

Louis simply grins, incapable of doing anything else at the moment, and tosses the wet towel at Greg's chest. It leaves a wet patch on his black t-shirt, and the older boy arches a brow.

"Really?"

"What are you going to do about it?" Louis says playfully. He's in such a good mood. It's completely liberating.

"Do you really want to know?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" He cautiously watches as Greg raises his hand, holding the towel up. Greg takes a few steps back, turning on the sink. "Don't you dare," Louis warns.

Greg only smirks, wetting the towel entirely under the water. He slowly shuts it off, while Louis steps back warily. His eyes flick between Greg and the dripping dishtowel, knowing that it's only a matter of time before he attacks. Louis searches for some kind of weapon, but the only the thing he sees are tiny, colourful plastic spoons. He grabs them.

Then Greg advances and Louis yelps, running away as Greg chases him. He doesn't get far, Greg catching his waist and rubbing his face into the towel. It's so gross.

He manages to fight him off, and then throws his spoons in his direction. He misses spectacularly, a rainbow of spoons loudly landing, completely spread out on the floor behind him as he dashes out from behind the counter. He feels when the towel splashes against his back, wetly soaking his shirt.

Louis groans and balls it up, throwing it back at Greg who's crouching behind the till. He hits him in the neck.

"Ow!" Greg laughs, and Louis cackles victoriously.

The fight continues. Louis builds an empire behind a table and two chairs while Greg throws more plastic spoons. In return Louis sends balled up napkins at him. When Louis finally runs out, his hair is dishevelled, his shirt has several wet spots, and the shop looks like mess. Thankfully it's a slow day.

"Leave me alone! Surrender!" Louis calls from behind his table.

"Never!"

"You're fucking tall! And older! Huge! Surrender to me, I'm tiny in comparison, and I deserve it!" It's unfair, really.

"You're tiny in comparison to everyone! It doesn't count! By now you should be used to it, you tackle down footie players way bigger than you on a regular day!"

"I'm 5'9¨! But you're still bigger!"

"Well, you have other traits that make up for it!"

Louis peeks over the edge of his table. "Like what?" he wonders, interested.

"Surrender and I'll tell you."

"Promise you won't attack me?"

"I promise!" he calls. Louis can see his hands shooting up from behind the counter.

He slowly stands, Greg doing the same. He looks almost as rumpled and disarrayed as Louis, light hair standing a little on end.

The door chimes then and someone walks into the shop. Louis tears his eyes from Greg's, alarmed because of the state of the shop. It's really a mess.

And, oh. No bother, it's Harry.

Harry. Oh shit, it's Harry.

Louis instantly goes lukewarm, his body feeling milky as his eyes lock on him. Harry's hair is newly washed and the curls are lovely and soft-looking. There's a pair of Ray Bans covering his eyes, his legs are in a pair of sinful blue jeans and torso covered in a simple white shirt. He looks wonderful.

Louis evidently looks like shit.

Harry's here, though, as in at Louis' work. He saw him a couple of hours ago at footie practice, sure, but he's clearly been home for a few hours in between. Practice was easy. Liam acted normal and Harry laughed at something Louis said during water break, which went to sit on the shelf next to "good person" and "cute". God, Harry really said those things?!

Harry takes off his shades, hanging them at the front of his shirt. His eyes fall on Louis, who awkwardly pats down his hair, fixing his shirt. They regard each other for a moment, simply looking.

"So, this is where you work?" Harry then grins, checking out the shop. Louis nods, feeling a little coy all of a sudden. Harry nods, eyes locking on the spoons littered on the floor. "Nice," he says, smiling.

Louis rolls his eyes. "It's a slow day so we were just having fun, throwing some stuff. I won."

"Sure, you did," Harry says easily.

"He didn't," Greg interrupts from behind the till. "A minute ago he just surrendered."

Louis quirks a brow. "And you were just about to tell me my beautiful traits." He walks up to the counter, hopping up to sit next to the till, facing Harry. He sees his gaze follow him, standing a little closer. Louis looks back at Greg. "And those were?"

He smiles softly. "I was going to say that you're adorable and attractive."

He's a little surprised, but damn right. Louis is adorable and attractive.

He's about to declare as much, but then suddenly Harry's scoffs. Louis' eyes flicker to him, finding him with his arms crossed, standing even closer now. Harry's eyes are narrowed, evidently displeased. "Adorable and attractive?" he huffs. "Rugged and handsome, more likely."

Louis' mouth opens, surprised. "Rugged and handsome?" he asks.

Harry's face is set determinedly, staring grimly in Greg's direction out of the corner of his eye. "Yes."

"Thanks," Louis chuckles, feeling like his stomach is doing somersaults. He watches as Harry shuffles on his feet, coming even closer. Eventually he leans on the glass container that's keeping the toppings for the frozen yoghurt. His arm is only inches away from Louis' shoulder, and if he wanted Louis could easily splay his hand on his tummy.

Harry looks down at him and Louis meets his gaze. Harry's just watching though, so he raises his brows. Harry doesn't seem to notice, but his thumb grazes Louis' knee. He's wearing jeans, but that doesn't seem to matter because goose bumps spread over his skin anyway. For some reason the image of them having sex pops up in his brain. What can he say? He's a teenager and Harry's fucking gorgeous. His eyes stay locked on Harry's, tongue licking over his lower lip. That Harry seems to notice, and he seems to realize what Louis' thinking about.

He smiles, small and genuine, finger pressing down on Louis' thigh. Can Louis take him and fuck right now, please?

"What was your order again?" Greg suddenly pipes up. Louis is almost startled. It feels like they've been staring at each other for days. Louis could keep going.

"He didn't order," Louis says, reluctantly averting his gaze from Harry. "Do you want anything?" he asks softly, eyes quickly back on him again. He's got a tiny braid in his hair.

"No." Harry shakes his head, curls softly bouncing. "I came to tell you, I'm planning a jog for the team."

"A jog?"

"Yes," he nods. "Team building, jogging a few miles in the woods and stuff. Could be good for us before the away game, I think."

"That sounds actually good," Louis says. Harry rolls his eyes. "No, really!" he chuckles. "When?"

"Saturday afternoon, next week."

"The day before the game then. Sounds nice." He squeezes Harry's forearm.

"Right," Greg says impatiently next to him. "We need to get back to work."

"There are no customers."

"Well, the sorbet needs to be refilled and this place looks horrible."

Louis sighs, but in his periphery he notices Harry giving Greg a look. Louis knows that look, and his belly suddenly feels floppy, exhilarated. "Fine," he says, leans closer to him, murmuring. "Are you coming over later?"

He's not flirting. Alright, he might be.

"If you want?" Harry murmurs back. He shrugs and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Standing like that his shoulders seem broader, torso leaner in a delicious way. Louis wants to lick his stomach.

He tears his eyes away from Harry's t-shirt covered tummy, looking up to meet his eyes, swallowing. "Yeah." He blinks slowly. "You could stay over...?"

"I'll see what I can do." They both know he will. "Bye, Lou."

Louis lets a small breath escape his lips. "Bye."

Harry winks as he backs away, fitting his shades back on his nose. He leaves the shop, Louis exhaling where he's sitting.

Harry is so bloody perfect and Louis is so fucking screwed.

**

Are you coming to the away game next Sunday ? It's the semi-final :) we could talk after ?

Louis sent the text message over an hour ago. Niall hasn't answered. It's probably the twelfth time he's checked his phone by now. He's on the couch at home, lounging with his feet propped up on the armrest and a cushion under his head. There's a rerun of a week old Premier League match playing on the TV, but he isn't paying much attention. He's a little sore from practice, but he should be revising, truthfully. The last exams of the year are coming up.

"Love," his mother calls from the kitchen.

"Yeah." He hears her chair scrape against the floor and her steps coming closer to the living room. He keeps his eyes shut.

She chuckles when she sees how he's spread out on the sofa. "Are you comfortable enough, sweetheart?"

"I could use someone to fan me, I think."

"It's not quite warm enough for that yet." He opens one eye. She's leaning in the arch of the doorway, hand resting comfortably on her hip. She looks nice.

"You're all dressed up?" She's even got lipstick, he notices.

"Yeah, I'm going out with a few people from work tonight."

"Oh." That's nice. It was a long time ago she did that. "Have fun, Mum. Be careful, don't drink too much," he smirks.

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. "I was actually going to talk to you about next weekend. The girls and I are going away as you know."

"Wait," he frowns. "Next weekend? My match is next weekend. Aren't you coming?"

"Hush, silly. We'll be back by then!"

Oh. His heart rate slows significantly. "Good."

"What I wanted to say is that you're allowed to have a few friends over if you want, but no big parties."

"I'm not going to throw a party the week of the most important match ever." Come on.

"I know, but I wanted to be a proper mummy and say it anyway," she winks.

Louis rolls his eyes, smiling. "You are a proper mum."

"Alright, love." She purses her lips. "Can I ask about Harry?"

He cautiously meets her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"We've never talked about it, darling, but I didn't know you were so close all of a sudden?"

He shrugs, looking at the TV. "I don't know. We're just friends now, I guess."

"That's nice. About time you grew up at least. He seems like a nice boy."

"Mum."

"Yes, yes. I'll go." She grins. "I'll be home later."

"Curfew at ten!" He calls after her, and he hears her laugh down the hall.

His phone chirps and he almost falls off the couch. It takes him a second to realize that it's not Niall though, because it was Harry's ringtone.

Come over please xxxxxxx

He frowns. Harry has been spending a little more time at home lately, but the situation with his parents hasn't seemed to have changed significantly. Also, x's?

Is something wrong, he asks.

No just come please !!!

Ok

He gets up from the couch, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. He contemplates if he should go fetch lube and condoms from his drawer upstairs, but he figures Harry would have said so if he wanted him to bring something. Lately it hasn't been entirely certain that they will be having sex of any sort when they hang out. Louis doesn't exactly mind, because Harry gave him a handjob yesterday afternoon in Louis' shower.

He slips into his shoes by the door, grabbing his jacket.

"Where are you going?"

He turns, finding Lottie standing by the entrance to the kitchen.

"Harry's," he says hesitantly. She hasn't been speaking with him much lately.

She nods slowly. "Figured. Mum found a random button down in the wash, just so you know. How many shirts is it now? Four? You should be more careful."

It's a little strange that she's looking out for him, but he hopes she's missing their friendship as much as he's been missing it. It's not easy being without Niall and her.

"Thanks, Lots."

"Can you give me a ride to my boyfriend's house?"

He grins. "So, that's what you really wanted?"

"Whatever, Lewis."

He chuckles, and they both file into the car soon enough. He drops her off a couple of blocks away, giving her a hug. It takes her a moment to squeeze him back, but eventually she locks her arms around his waist and presses her face to his neck. It's lovely. Louis has missed her.

"Still angry with you," she mutters before she closes the door.

Louis figures that's as good as he gets right now. It's cool.

He arrives at Harry's house a few minutes later, noting one of the sleek cars parked in the driveway. He presses his lips together, feeling a little reluctant in case Harry's parents are home.

He slowly strolls up to the porch, feeling wary as he presses down the door handle. He's learned that Harry never opens the door if you knock, and apparently the Styles family don't see the point of locking doors. He walks in, carefully avoiding making any noise. He feels silly, kind of, but having a conversation with Anne alone or even with Harry's father is something that sits very low on his list of things he'd find enjoyable.

He quietly makes his way to the stairs, finding the living room empty when he peeks his head inside. Feeling a little safer he trudges upstairs, heading for Harry's room. It's simply down the hall, and Louis feels rather calm when there are only a few yards left. Something brushes his calf.

He almost jumps out of his skin, leaping away and whacking his shoulder in the wall.

There's a cat.

It meows casually as it continues to saunter in no hurry down the hall, while Louis' hand's covering his chest completely in horror. What the hell.

"You never told me you have a fucking cat, you know?" Louis tells Harry once he opens his door, heart still pumping in his throat.

Harry's on his bed, sitting, like Louis usually finds him, leaning against the headboard. He looks a little tired, curls loose and soft around his face. Louis flops down on the bed, looking up at him.

"That's Dusty," Harry says lamely, eyes trained on his knees. They're pulled up close to his chest, lips pursed.

"What's going on?" Louis asks.

"I don't know." He shrugs.

"You sounded urgent."

He shrugs again.

"Hey," Louis says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Are you okay?" Harry doesn't answer. Louis watches him in silence for a long moment. "Want me to suck you off...?" he asks slowly, raising a brow.

Harry smiles a little, at least the corner of his mouth seems to quirk upwards as if he's holding in a little chuckle. "Yeah," he says.

Louis rolls his eyes, but crawls up on the bed as Harry makes himself comfortable, lying down on the bed with his head resting on a pillow. Louis pushes Harry's shirt up to his armpits, giving a tiny lick to his flat stomach. Harry squirms, laughing, and Louis smiles back. He plants a small kiss on the spot.

He quickly unbuttons Harry's trousers and slides his hands under the small of his back to pull them down. Harry pliantly lies still on the bed, letting Louis manhandle him until his pants are halfway down his thighs.

He's not even got a semi on, but Louis sinks his teeth into his skin at the jut of his hip. Harry hisses, but soon relaxes as Louis licks over the bite. He continues to trail kisses over his lower stomach and groin, feeling his thighs tremble slightly under himself. He sucks a mark under Harry's navel, giving it a little peck before he looks up at him.

He grips his cock with his left hand, giving him small tugs as he watches his face contort with pleasure. Louis can feel himself growing hard simply at the sight of his face, mouth ajar and brows knitted.

"Louis," he says then. He's a little breathless, but other than that he speaks almost conversationally, slight strain in his voice. "Do you think you could go down on me now?" he exhales, chest falling.

Louis almost laughs. He's fucking adorable. There's no way around it. "Yes, H."

"Thanks, baby." He clears his throat, making another heavy exhale.

Louis takes a steady hold at the base of his length and licks his lip. He opens his mouth and slowly takes him down. Harry reacts instantly. It's obvious he really tries to stop himself, but it's pointless because his hips buck up on their own accord anyway. Louis supposes it was a while he ago he sucked him off; he's mostly been giving him handjobs.

He sucks him deeper until his nose barely touches Harry's stomach (which is a feat, because hello, Harry's huge – a fight they've had plenty of times. Harry claims he's better at giving blowjobs because he can deepthroat better, but in Louis' defence Harry's mouth is fucking gigantic and Louis' cook has more girth than length), and stays there for as long as he can. His eyes water and he breathes harshly through his nose, but he soon has to pull away to breathe properly. Harry's hips follow, but Louis takes a steady hold on him to keep him in place.

"H," he reminds, pressing a thumb into his thigh.

"Uh-huh," he breathes, hand tangling in Louis' hair.

He takes him down again, this time bobs his head up and down, the slide easy. Harry tastes a little salty from pre-come, but he's rather sweet (another argument – "you should eat more fruit, Lewis") but it's not as if Louis has anyone to compare him with.

Harry's breathing gets more and more laboured soon enough, hips getting jerky. He pulls at Louis' hair – not too harsh, just a warning – and Louis hums around his cock, making Harry moan out loud.

"Lou," he groans. "Lou, I'm gonna – Uh."

Louis squeezes his hip soothingly and it's not long before Harry finishes, warm spurts of come filling Louis' mouth. He sucks it up (pun intended) and swallows, taking it all so they won't have to get a towel to clean him up. Harry moans through it, fingers scratching Louis' scalp.

When he's done, Louis tucks Harry back into his pants and leans back to give him room to pull his trousers up. Harry's forehead is a little warm, as is the small of his back. Louis' still half-hard in his jeans and the feeling of Harry's skin against his fingers isn't making it better.

He crawls up to the headboard, tucking a pillow behind his back. Harry sits beside him, slightly farther down so his head is in line with Louis' left shoulder when he leans back.

"Thanks," he says, exhaling.

Louis nods. "S'fine."

Harry looks up at him. "Want me to get you off?" He nods down at Louis' crotch. His curls are askew and his eyes are a little droopy.

"Can wait," Louis says. "You're all sex-hazy."

Harry hums, head dropping to Louis' shoulder. Louis can feel the scent of his shampoo, green apple this time, his hair only inches from his nose. Louis wraps his closest arm around Harry's neck, fingers sinking into his hair. He brushes it off his forehead, carding it back delicately. It's soft. Silky.

"Mum and the girls are going away the weekend of the match," Louis says idly.

"But they always watch –"

"They'll be back on time."

"Oh."

"Yeah," Louis hums.

"They're always there," Harry says quietly.

"I was thinking you could stay over, like, the whole weekend if you wanted...?" It could be nice. The whole weekend to themselves, just relaxing. Maybe it's silly.

"Sounds brilliant," Harry hums.

Louis tries to bite down his smile. He brushes Harry's forehead lightly with his thumb. "Cool."

They're silent for a while. Louis finds Harry's closed his eyes when he glances down. He wonders if he's fallen asleep, but after a moment more he feels him shift a little closer.

"If I ask my parents to come watch the game, do you think they'd come?" Harry murmurs.

Thing is, Louis can't answer that. He has no idea. He's fairly certain that Anne and Des absolutely love Harry, but he wouldn't put it past them overlook it, prioritize it away. He wants to tell him that if they love him then they'll be there, but it isn't true. If they don't show, it would be a hard blow. Louis knows what that kind of disappointment feels like.

"I don't know," he whispers in lieu of answering. "But I think you should definitely ask, though. Even if they don't care about football, they care about you. Asking them might help."

"You're wise when you want to be."

"It's just this particular subject," Louis says lowly. "I've got A's in dysfunctional families."

The joke that wasn't really a joke falls flat, and they're quiet again. They're just breathing slowly, Louis stroking Harry's hair. It's quite lovely, despite the heavy subject.

"Do you think we're going to win?" Louis wonders, honestly.

Harry's answer comes easily, yet it's earnest. "Yeah."

In this moment it would be so easy to ask Harry if he feels something for Louis too. It feels so normal, sitting here with him, just talking. He couldn't be sure, but it feels like there's something there and it's mutual.

Before Louis can think any further, Harry's hand reaches his. He looks down, finding he's reached over Louis' lap. He grips Louis' hand, linking their fingers just like in the car a few weeks ago. Louis lets him knit them together, continuing to softly card through his hair with his other hand.

He could lean down and kiss his forehead. It would be appropriate, he thinks. Harry's so tired and soft. Maybe that sort of thing requires having talked about where you stand relationship-wise, though.

There's a knock on the door, and Anne pokes her head into the room. Louis' hard-on has gone down by now, but he wonders if he should let go of Harry. The boy doesn't move, however, so Louis remains how he is. Harry's mum's eyes widen when he spots them on the bed, but she doesn't seem fazed. Just like Louis' mother, Anne surprisingly seems less stressed. There aren't as many wrinkles creasing her eyes or mouth. She looks peaceful, to a degree.

"Oh, hi," she says, voice lowered. "Didn't know you had come over, Louis. I was just going to tell Harry that dinner's ready. Louis, would you like to join us?"

Err. Rather not.

"Oh, I've got to get home. Was just stopping by, really."

Harry leaves his head against Louis' shoulder, continuing to feel heavy by his side. "I'll be down, Mum," he says, sighing. It doesn't even feel like Harry remembers that he's still holding Louis' hand. Louis remembers, of course he does. The touch is like an electric cord, sending hotness up his entire arm, making his head swirl. It scares him a little that Harry might not feel the same, that it's a big deal. What if he's the only one with butterflies? It's a scary thought, that Harry still considers him his nemesis. He can't, can he?

"Alright," Anne says. "I'll see you around, Louis."

"Bye." He waves, giving her a quick smile before she closes the door.

Harry sits up, shoulders slouched and eyes tired. He sits farther down on the bed, staring at the door, but keeps his hand in Louis', arm stretched back. "Do you want to know something?" He doesn't look back.

"What?"

"They haven't said a word. About me, being gay."

"Oh," Louis breathes. "You'd never told them before, yeah?"

Harry shakes his head, swallowing. "Not a word. It was like it'd never happened when I got home from yours the day after the dinner party. It's not like they treat me differently or think less of me, but just the fact that they completely ignore it is worse. I know they don't care if I marry a boy, but. Just, like," he clears his throat, but Louis can hear how clogged he sounds, "maybe they could tell me they love me anyway, you know?"

It hits a little close to home. Wishing someone would tell you they love you is painful, especially because there's no way to ask for it. Especially when it's your parents, the ones you shouldn't have to ask.

It's impossible that Harry thinks of Louis as his enemy. They're not enemies – they're friends.

"Just so you know," he says quietly, staring at Harry's shoulder in front of him. His hand is almost crushing Harry's in his. "I think you're very brave for coming out to your entire family. I also think you deserve a lot of happy things." He swallows. "I've got your back."

The minute he's said it the room feels several times quieter.

Harry turns around, eyes big and mouth open. Then he lets Louis' hand go, but only to cup Louis cheeks and kiss him.

**

"Did you know that dolphins are the only animals that have sex for pleasure?" Harry asks.

Louis stares back at him impassively.

"Like, except for humans." His voice is slow, drawling, and he's looking down at Louis through half lidded eyes.

"How did you learn that?"

"Facts about dolphins dot com."

"Did you search that up yourself?"

"Was just browsing, you know."

"Cool."

Harry is peculiar, to say the least. He's also funny, intelligent and likes fluffy animals. He also calls Louis 'babe' and 'baby'.

Louis adds these to the list of things he'll use when he's going to tell Niall that he's got butterflies for Harry. He's going to need heavy loads of reasons as to why he's actually likeable, because after spending three years complaining to Niall about him, he's got to have good reasons as to why he's suddenly changed his mind. Obviously, Louis likes to be prepared.

At the moment, Harry is leaning back against his locker in the changing room. They're the first there, early even, and having changed into their footie kits they're currently taking advantage of a moment alone. Apparently Anne has become more and more insistent that Harry sleeps and eats at home, so their time together to make out has been reduced by at least 25 percent. Louis knows because his lips are less dry than they usually are.

He's laced his arms around Harry's waist, the other boy keeping his wound around Louis' shoulders, head leaning back against the locker. Louis watches him from beneath, pursing his lips so they brush against his chin.

"Do you often google animal facts?"

"Sometimes. Couldn't sleep last night."

He looks it, and acts it too. He blinks slowly, drawls when he speaks and his body is incredibly soft.

"Why?" Louis inquires with a hum.

Harry shrugs, having shut his eyes completely. "Lots of yelling. Fighting."

It absolutely tears Louis inside hearing how hopeless he sounds. Louis knows exactly what it's like, and seeing Harry go through that now, almost exactly a year since Louis did, makes the wound twitch. He wishes he could change it somehow, but he supposes all he can do is offer some support.

"I'm sorry, H." It's all he can say for now, but it doesn't feel like nearly as much.

"It's not your fault, babe."

"You know," Louis says, pressing his forehead to Harry's chest, literally speaking to his torso. "I think it's really good you'll be staying at mine this weekend. 'Cause then you'll get proper sleep and rest up."

"Are you just saying that because you want to fuck me?" Harry asks.

"You hurt me, Harry," Louis says. "As if I'd keep you from being able to perform at your peak on the most important match of our lives." As if he were that heartless. As if he didn't care about him. As if he were using him for sex.

"I'm kidding," Harry says, but Louis feels uncertain.

"You don't actually believe that right?" he wonders, almost a whisper.

Slowly, Harry shakes his head. "No," he says, arms tightening around his shoulders. "I don't believe that. We're, you know, keeping each other... distracted. You're in my corner?"

Louis' heart pumps, making it feel like his whole body is flooded with heavy waves in tune with his heartbeat. It sounds like Harry doesn't know how to explain, but he anxiously wants to know if he's unsure or if he simply doesn't know what Louis feels and doesn't want to put himself out there yet. Or perhaps that's just Louis.

"I'm in your corner yeah," he affirms. "I am." He reaches up on his toes to press a little kiss to his chin. Meanwhile, his pulse is still ticking. He wants know; if he'd press his cheek to Harry's chest, would he be able to feel his heart drum like Louis'?

The door to the locker room flies open, and Louis can hear when a few of the boys from the team bundle inside. Louis and Harry that are hidden behind the wall of lockers pull apart, Harry pressing a last kiss to Louis' forehead. Louis walks around the lockers, revealing himself to the lads on the other side, thankful Harry can't see how red his cheeks are burning.

You don't kiss someone on the forehead if you don't have genuine feelings for them, right?

The boys greet him happily, cheering. Louis can tell they're hyped for today's practice, the last one before the big match on Sunday. He's excited too, but it's more of a jumpy, jittery feeling. He sits down on one of the benches, just as Harry comes out to join them. The boys look up, greeting him in surprise.

"Are there more of us hiding behind there?" Jonah asks, chuckling when Lee jokingly goes to check.

"Just captain to captain conversations," Harry says pleasantly, sitting down on the bench next to Louis. He feels his thigh graze his, skin brushing against skin. Harry doesn't remove his leg and neither does Louis. He keeps his eyes strictly away from the touch.

Practice is fun. Coach Abrahams comes up with a few exercises that require lots of teamwork. It's amazing what a change has gone through the team. Everyone is brighter, more eager to work, and everyone seems to have a really good time. Louis thinks it's really fucking cool to watch something like that happen to a team. It feels pretty awesome.

At the end they compete within the team. In pairs they have to run across half the pitch, one giving the other a piggyback ride. Louis instantly jumps onto Stan's back, and they end up beating Harry and Ed by a yard. Naturally that means they're obnoxious about it.

"Harry is taller and has more muscles, yet I run the fastest with Louis on my back!" Stan yells, the team's attention already on him.

Harry scoffs, laughing. "Louis literally weighs nothing!"

"I could do it with Ed on my back as well," Stan challenges.

"Oh, really?" Harry says. He arches a brow, and, from where Louis is watching with the rest of the lads, he looks genuinely up for the challenge.

"Yes, really," Stan nods. Louis doesn't think he's really thought this through, because Louis is rather certain that Harry's by far stronger and faster than him with these circumstances.

"Fine," Harry shrugs, grinning. "Let's go." He finds Louis among the boys and nods at him. "Lewis."

"How am I involved?"

"We're switching. Ed, get on my back." Stan walks to up to Harry, both of them facing the white paint that outlines where the pitch is divided in half.

Harry waves Louis over, holding out his arms to let him jump onto his back. It's a little strange, but mostly exciting, because they haven't been this close in front of the team before. Even sitting next to each other on the bench in the locker room today felt intense. Louis jumps onto his back, legs wrapping around his waist securely. He locks his arms around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt.

Harry carries him easily, positioning himself next to Stan who's carrying Ed. Louis feels Harry's bun brush against his nose, so he presses his cheek to the side of his head to avoid it. Harry's ear is just inches from Louis' mouth. He can feel Harry's hands holding his thighs firmly, keeping him solidly in place.

"If you win, I'll give you a congratulatory blowjob tonight," Louis whispers, smiling.

Harry's laugh is bright, making Ed turn and look at them. Louis arches a brow at him, but his smile remains. He's been a little excited to have Harry over. Perhaps, maybe, they could talk. Like, really talk. Ed simply gives him a competitive narrowing of his eyes.

"Blow the whistle, Coach!" Harry calls.

He does and they're off. It's bumpy, but not as bumpy as when he was on Stan's back. To be fair, Stan is keeping incredibly well, only half a yard behind. They reach half of the distance quickly, Harry and Louis in the lead. Louis clings on for all his might, legs starting to slip.

Suddenly, Stan is running awfully close to them, Ed poking out a leg to push Harry sideways.

"Oi!" Louis yells. "Cheating!"

"Keep straight, Styles!" Coach calls over, making the rest of the team cackle.

"I've tried but I can't!" Harry yells back. Louis bursts out laughing, the innuendo and the reality behind his worse too clear.

They manage to catch up to Stan and Ed, Louis reaching out to pull on Ed's jersey to keep them back. There's lots of yelling after that. Soon, they're about to cross the line and Ed manages to knock Louis in the side, which makes Harry slip and then all four of them are falling into a heap.

Louis lands on his side, Harry onto his chest, elbowing him harshly in the rib. He feels someone's cleats pressing into his calf. It faintly reminds him of the night of his and Harry's first kiss. They'd been running, competing and Harry ended up knocking the breath out of him.

Harry rolls off and over on his side, facing Louis. "Are you okay, Lou?" he asks, eyes filled with worry.

"Nobody better have broken a leg because we need to fucking murder on Sunday!" Lee calls from where the team is sprawling on the ground.

"We won!" Louis insists from the ground, holding his arm up in victory. He feels Harry move by his side, chuckling.

"You're fine then?" he asks, smiling.

"Very fine," Louis agrees, sitting up.

"You did not win!"

Harry pulls Louis to his feet and the fight continues all the way to the showers.

They all get changed in no hurry. There's lots of cursing, teasing, inspiring monologues about the upcoming game, and singing. When Louis finally gets dressed, it's almost six o'clock. Jay and Lottie have already left for their weekend with Fizzy by now, and Harry is supposed to drive over right away. Louis' got pizza, beer and movies planned.

He leaves the locker room and heads to the parking lot. His car is parked in its usual spot near the building, but before he gets there he sees Zayn. He's leaning against Harry's car, smoking. Louis slows down, looking around the empty lot for a moment. Zayn hasn't seen him yet, and Louis feels slightly strange as he chooses a new direction, heading towards him.

"Hey," he says once he approaches him, voice not unkind.

Zayn looks up, clearly surprised. "Hello," he greets, gaze following Louis as he comes to a stop in front of him.
Louis awkwardly shuffles on his feet, adjusting the strap of his training bag over his shoulder. He looks down for second, inhaling to gain some composure. He looks up, finding the other boy frowning at him.

"I, err," Louis starts. He feels fucking silly, but meeting Zayn's brown eyes, watching him lean against Harry's shiny Rover in his moss green jacket and tousled quiff, makes him nervous. "These, um. These last weeks have been really hard for me, for all kinds of reasons." He shakes his head, exhaling. "I'm not here to defend myself, I just want to apologize."

Zayn squints at him. "For what?"

Louis stares back. "For being a dick? For knocking into you, and taking my frustration about Niall out on you?"

He watches him purse his lips, nodding. He drops his smoke, dragging the sole of his shoe over it where it still burns. "It's fine," he shrugs.

"It is?" Louis asks in confusion.

"I think you should talk to Niall instead, mate."

Louis nods. "I know. I will. I've tried, too, but he doesn't answer my texts or calls."

"Do you really think texting is enough?" He looks up at him, eyebrows quirked, making his forehead crease. He looks like some smouldering model, sounds like a sage teacher.

"'Course not," Louis mumbles.

"Then try again." His voice is light, making the matter seem so simple. Easy.

Slowly, Louis nods. He should get going. "Sorry. Again," he mutters, then turns and trudges back toward his car.

"Hey!" Zayn calls, before he's gotten far. Louis stops, spinning around. "You're proper in love with him, aren't you?"

His mouth opens, eyes meeting Zayn's earnest ones. Louis can't read him. "How do you know?" he calls back, not letting his voice tell anything.

"Because you're wondering how he feels about you. If you weren't, you wouldn't care."

Louis frowns. "How do you– Liam," he realizes, lips pressing together solemnly. "Do the two of you observe, report back to each other and discuss?" he asks.

Zayn smirks. "Nah, babes. Harry discusses. I listen, and Liam reports."

Louis snorts, rolling his eyes as he turns towards his car. "See you around," he says, shaking his head.

"Bye, Lou," Zayn calls, and Louis is a hundred percent sure he's still smirking.

**

"Louis!" Harry yells from the car.

"I'm coming. Relax, H."

"We're late!"

"We're captains! The others will just have to fucking wait."

"We're supposed to be there first!"

"Chill out! I'm coming now." Louis finishes locking the door, hoists his bag up on the shoulder and jogs up to Harry's car. He quickly jumps inside, pushing his bag into the backseat as Harry leaves the curb. "It's not my fucking fault we had to clean up the entire fucking kitchen before the mix got stuck."

"If somebody hadn't decided to make pancakes an hour before we had to leave, which is pretty idiotic in the first place since running with those carbs in your stomach is a fucking hell, we wouldn't have had that problem!"

Louis vehemently turns to face him. "I was making us breakfast, you ingrate! You're the one who spilled the entire mixture over the counter and the floor."

Harry can't say anything to that, so he grits his teeth and scowls out the windshield. "Why were you even making breakfast, anyway?" he grumbles.

They both know Louis is the bowl of cereal breakfast type. But as it was, Louis woke up this morning with Harry plastered to himself. His thigh was tucked in between his, arm wrapped over his torso and nose in his neck. Louis was warm, Harry's hair was disgustingly close to his mouth (not that it didn't smell very nice), and he couldn't really move. So, he sucked a bruise into the junction of Harry's shoulder to wake him up, and then when Harry moaned and rolled over, Louis could escape.

After taking a much-needed shower, he went downstairs. Also, since it's the day before the match, he thought they should be eating properly. Harry likes pancakes. Louis just happened to not realize how late he woke up, and when Harry bundled down the stairs it got quite stressful.

"Was hungry," he shrugs.

The rest of the ride is spent in silence. Louis sighs and leans his forehead against the window.

The previous night after Louis' talk with Zayn, he drove back home, Harry arriving at his house not much later. Louis texted Niall again, requesting they'd meet up after the semi-final, or whenever he has time afterwards. He didn't answer.

They ordered pizzas, watched an old animated movie and Louis contemplated asking Harry to talk. He never got the opportunity to. This morning was a mess and now they're bickering.

It's a fifteen minute ride to the woods they are meant to meet at. They're supposed to be there at one, but by the looks of things they're at least ten minutes late.

They eventually turn onto the dirt road leading up to the meeting point where all the tracks through the woods begin. Louis can see the small meadow, which is more a of a grass lawn with a few benches and a barbecue site than anything else. Harry turns into one of the few parking spots that are left, stopping the car.

They jump out of the vehicle, making their way to the table the rest of the lads have gathered around.

"You can all relax, your beloved captain is here," Louis announces, holding his hands out in a placating manner. The boys weren't even doing anything but talking lowly in groups. They look up, about to greet their powerful leader when Harry brushes past Louis, putting him in the shadow himself.

"Thanks for the introduction, Louis," he says briefly, and then proceeds to climb up on the table that the boys were circled around. Louis squints. "Right, we're all here, yes?"

"Yes, we know how to show up in time for things," Liam says.

Louis swears that if Harry could, he'd totally blame his late arrival on Louis. As it is he can't, and Louis meets Harry's eyes with a smirk. "Snarky doesn't suit you, Lime," he says, and then shuffles onto the table to stand next to Harry.

"Were you riding together?" Lee asks.

"Yes," Louis says curtly. "For captain reasons."

Harry looks down at him, arching a brow. "Any reason you're joining me on the table, dear?"

"For captain reasons...?" Truthfully, he doesn't know. Harry was on the table, so it only felt appropriate that he should to be standing there, too. Otherwise he would be the less powerful and dominant captain.

Harry smiles at him expectantly. "Go on then."

"Right." He clears his throat, clapping his hands together as the team watches on, probably knowing very well that Louis is going to go on a long improvised rant about something random. "Kids, when I was your age, I was—"

"Alright, nicely put, Lou," Harry interrupts, hands clasped behind his back. The team laughs. Louis glares. "What I was going to say was that when you've all run five miles, there will be a surprise waiting for you back here with me and Lucifer."

Louis blinks.

"Surprise?" Liam asks.

"You're not going to run?"

"Lucifer?"

"No, but seriously, are you not going to run with us?"

Louis smiles down at Stan haughtily. "For captain reasons. And Lucifer, H, really?"

Harry grips his neck. "No, we're going to be running the three mile track, then prepare the surprise."

"Alright, let's go," Oli says. "I want my present sooner rather than later."

Louis turns to Harry, looking up at him. "We have presents?" he hisses. Never mind that, he didn't even know they had a surprise to begin with.

Harry ignores him, which makes Louis throw his hands out in exasperation. "Who's ready to run, boys?"

"Yes, let's go!" Oli jumps once, pulling at random limps around him. Louis should promote him to something.

Louis helps him shoo people toward the start of the five mile track, and the boys start jogging down the path. Before Louis can join them, though, Harry stops him.

"You want to talk?" Louis says. "Don't you remember you called me the name of some dude associated with Satan a minute ago?"

Harry cups his face and smiles down at him warmly. "Let's not fight," he says. His nose grazes Louis'. "We'll fix the rest of the mess at home later, alright? And then we cheat and get us ice cream, yes?" His voice is soft. Louis doesn't want to keep bickering either, so he nods quietly.

"Okay," he tries to say, but it comes out slightly muffled since Harry is somewhat pushing in his cheeks. Harry grins and then leaves him to catch up with the team. Louis follows quickly, soon enough reaching Liam and joins him.

They jog in a comfortable pace, Louis and Liam eventually falling behind Harry, Ed and Jonah. Strangely, Louis doesn't find it weird talking to him now that he knows that he knows about him and Harry. Neither of them mention it, only chat about the game and trivial things. Louis wouldn't mind if he said anything, but he doesn't want to be the one to bring it up either.

He watches Harry's back while they jog. Liam talks about the new Marvel movie coming up, and Louis' eyes trail from Harry's shoulder, to the skin of his neck visible above his jacket, to his hidden waist and down his legs. He can still feel Harry's nose brushing against him. If it weren't for their no-proper-sex-before-the-big-match rule, Louis would want him now. Like, right now.

He realizes how much their relationship has changed these last weeks. So quickly after Louis and Niall's fallout Harry showed him support, and they grew tight so fast. Is all this just down of the agreement they've formed? They can't possibly be this close just because they've clinched a deal to be on each other's side? Or?

Harry wraps his arm around Louis' waist, hoisting him to the side and making him squawk. The rest of the boys slow down. "This way, Lewis."

"Thanks, H, I can walk." Louis splutters, stomach swooping even as Harry sets him down. "And a warning would have been nice."

"This is where we part ways, minions," Harry announces to the rest, Louis noting where the path splits in two. "See you back at the meadow."

"You've started talking like Louis." Stan arches a brow.

"Stop copying me, dick," Louis says, joking but mostly to blot out Stan's words.

Harry doesn't answer, simply salutes and starts down the three mile track. Louis nods at the lads and bounds after him, disappearing into the trees.

It takes him a moment to realize that Harry is actually running rather fast, his training jacket in red blurry by the trees farther down the path. Louis kicks up his speed, trying to catch up. The path is tricky, zigzagging between firs and oak trees. He doesn't quite trust the groundwork and eventually he ends up losing sight of Harry completely.

He's starting to sweat pretty heavily after running so fast — which is something they shouldn't be doing because, fuck, this was supposed to be a jog — when the trees start to thin out.

Harry jumps out from a bush in front of him.

Louis screams.

His heart is in his throat and he stumbles backwards, almost falling over a root in the ground. He recognizes Harry's face only half a second later, exhaling in relief. "What the hell are you doing?" he complains, meanwhile Harry cackles like a fucking idiot.

"Your, face," he gasps, clutching his stomach.

"Is this why you were running so bloody fast? This was supposed to be a relaxing jog, you dick."

Harry shakes his head, mouth forming into a solid smile. "No, we had to hurry because the surprise needs to get ready."

Louis makes a face, leaning back against the oak behind him. "What even is the surprise?"

"Got a water hose in the car we can hook to the tap at the side of the little shed back at the site."

Louis lifts his brows, surprised by Harry's mischief. "Ooh, they're not going to be pleased about this." He grins, impressed.

Harry walks up to him, leaving only a foot of distance between their chests. He's still smiling, clearly smug and proud of his plan. He licks his lip, arm coming to rest against the tree trunk above Louis' head. Louis meets his eyes in inquiry, keeping their eyes at level. Harry's just gazing back, the jade in them glistening almost like in a book. He's gorgeous.

Harry leans in lips ghosting over his jawline, nose just barely brushing his cheek. Louis wants him to kiss him, tongue, saliva, teeth clashing — all of it.

Harry hums as Louis holds his breath, feeling Harry move his lips closer. He closes his eyes.

"Was this your plan?" he breathes.

"Yeah. I came up with the surprise as an excuse so I could have you all to myself."

Louis snorts. Kiss me.

He can feel Harry inhale against himself. Here it comes.

He doesn't kiss him. He ducks away, leaving Louis to open his eyes in disappointment. He winks, and then jogs out into the meadow towards his car. Louis wants to groan aloud, sink down to the ground against the tree, and cover his eyes.

He's a hundred percent sure that he's so incredibly, miserably fucked.

**

Back in Harry's car on the way home, they're both soaking wet in freezing water, clothes sodden. It's safe to say the lads on the team weren't happy, but Harry and Louis were truly fucked once they realized that there were fourteen boys against the two of them. Louis is shuddering and shaking like a tiny fucking Chihuahua in the winter, planning on a long bath in the tub filled with, preferably, steaming, boiling water.

Harry's curls are plastered to his neck and he's shivering, his shoulders hunched. As they arrive at the house, his phone starts buzzing where it sits in the cup holder. He picks it up once he's shut off the engine, bringing it to his ear.

"Hey, Mum," he says, and Louis is relieved to hear he doesn't sound irritable or hostile. Louis points towards the house, signing he's going inside while he talks. "Oh, really," Harry says into the phone as Louis grabs his bag and gets out of the car.

It's just past four, the sun is still out, but Louis is having a hard time enjoying the warm weather as his hair is still dripping, clothes soaked to his pants.

He's surprised when Harry closes the door to the car quite loudly, having ended the conversation much sooner than expected. Louis waits by the porch, watching the other boy stalk up to him in a quick pace.

Harry comes to stand in front of him, crossing his arms firmly, voice hard. "How about we talk about the times my mother has had private conversations with you."

Louis' mouth shapes into an 'O'. His heart starts to pound.

"Apparently," Harry says tightly, "she's talked to you about me, and fought with Dad in front of you at your job."

Louis swallows. "Did she say all that now?" He's scared to speak too loud.

"Were you seriously never going to tell me?" Harry asks, completely exasperated. Louis hopes Harry's hard exterior will dissipate, but he prevails. "How could you not?" His brows are lifted as he stares back at Louis.

"I–" Louis stutters. "I didn't want to worry you."

"What do you mean?"

Louis inhales. "Last autumn she, erm." He scratches his arm, looking down at his feet.

"Spit it out." His jaw is clenched, teeth gritted.

"She threatened to go to her lawyer?"

Louis wishes he'd lied something up, because the look on Harry's face as it crumbles is nothing he ever wanted to see. It's like something ghosts through his body, tearing him up inside. He sits down on the porch, pulling his knees up to his chest, burying his face in the crooks of him arms.

Louis aches for him.

Slowly, he sits down next to Harry, both of them facing the street, the front door of the house behind them, and their knees almost brushing. Louis' hand comes up. He wants to touch Harry's neck, turn him to himself and let Harry rest against him, letting him know there's a place where he can feel protected. Harry moves an inch; Louis' hand drops.

"When was this?" His words are muffled and hard to hear, but Louis can make it out.

"September. I think," he murmurs, frowning at his feet.

Harry sighs, and when he looks up to meet Louis' eyes, they're red and shiny. "Is it fucked up that I'm not surprised?" His question is earnest, face expressionless apart from his eyes. "But it still hurts?"

"No," Louis whispers. "It's not fucked up."

"I feel fucked up. A lot."

"Me too." He's not alone.

"You should."

Louis looks up, but when he meets Harry's gaze once more there's a small glint in his eye. Louis shakes his head, and Harry smiles. It's tiny, but it's there. Little dimple.

Louis hooks his arm around his neck and pulls him in. Harry cuddles into his side, exhaling softly. His head rests against Louis' collarbone, Louis' arm around his shoulders. He holds him, keeping him close and embraced.

"Don't," he murmurs, almost so softly that he isn't sure if Harry hears it or not. "Don't feel fucked up."

In either case, Harry doesn't respond, only stays against Louis' chest. His curls have started to dry a little, but their clothes are still wet. They should get out of them.

"What did she say to you about me? At the store?" Harry suddenly wonders, whispering. He sounds too vulnerable.

Louis stares at the yard in front of them. "She apologized for your birthday party." He starts slowly, going easy. "She told me to take care of you. That I shouldn't let you get into your own head, and that you like pancakes for breakfast. She loves you."

It takes a moment before Harry answers, still buried in Louis. "Is that why you made pancakes this morning...?"

Louis can't answer out loud, but it's blatantly obvious what the answer is.

They stay quiet.

A car pulls up in front of the house. Louis hears the engine, but he doesn't want to open his eyes. There's a car door shutting, and then eventually Harry is freeing himself from Louis, sitting up.

"Lou," he says quietly, making him sigh. He keeps his arm around Harry's shoulders as he opens his eyes.

There's a man walking towards him. He's in his forties, a little older than Louis' mum. His hair is just a year or so away from greying, his face seeming older than when Louis last saw him. His heart pounds, but strangely his throat doesn't clog up and he doesn't run away. He remains sitting.

"Hello, Louis," the man says as he stops in front of him. He looks calm, casual.

"Hi."

"How are you?"

"Fine." The man nods. "You?" Louis asks. He doesn't know what is causing him to feel this settled, this placated.

"I'm alright," he nods. "I'm alright."

Harry is still by Louis' side, silently watching Louis converse with his former stepfather.

"What are you doing here?" Maybe he's nervous after all. His pulse is ticking, head feeling a little dizzy for just a second, like when you aren't a regular smoker and it's the same feeling you get when you haven't had a cigarette in ages and you take a few drags, feeling the nicotine go to your head.

Mark shrugs, light-hearted. "I came to see if you wanted to hang out."

Louis feels the expression on his face grow dubious. He feels Harry move under his arm, remembering that he's still very much pressed to his side. "Me not answering your calls wasn't an inclination to what the answer might be?"

"I found it an incentive to try a little harder."

Louis' stomach knots up. He swallows, looking down. He feels Harry's fingers clutch his hand then, spreading his fingers and slotting them with his own where it rests below his shoulder. It's comforting.

Mark doesn't look shocked, and neither does he seem displeased. He looks... interested. "Is this a new thing?" he asks.

Louis shrugs. "I'm queer." Fuck, did someone rupture a balloon inside him?

Mark nods. "I saw you two. When Lottie visited and you stayed outside?"

"Oh," he breathes.

"Does Mum know?"

He says it like he would when they were a family. Like, how for the benefit of your kids you call your wife "Mum". Can I go to the party tonight? Ask Mum, yeah?, or alternately, Can I have a fiver? Ask Dad, love.

"No," Louis whispers.

Mark nods, as though he understands. It should annoy Louis. It doesn't. He's slightly surprised, but then again he wouldn't know what to expect.

"You've changed a lot," Mark notes.

Louis' shoulders are tense as he shrugs.

"I thought," Mark begins, "that you and I could have a lads night? Since the girls are off with Jay, us boys could do something similar? Or brunch perhaps, if you're busy tonight?" He nods at Harry, who's staying quiet by Louis' side.

"I..." Louis says slowly. He looks up, meeting Mark's eyes evenly. "I think I'll pass."

He watches him purse his lips. He doesn't look surprised, but actually disappointed. Louis looks away.

"Maybe another time then," he nods. Not very likely.

Louis can see how he nods again in his periphery, mostly to himself, accepting. When he gets no other reaction from Louis, he starts walking away. He feels Harry twitch beside him. His hand in Louis' is heavy and his fingers lax; he isn't holding on anymore.

Mark reaches his car, and then Louis shakes his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He drops Harry's hand, standing up and running after his Dad. Stepdad. Former.

"Why did you stop coming to my games?" he asks, almost desperately. Mark turns around, and there's only two feet separating them.

Mark stares back at him as if it's obvious. "I didn't want to ruin it for you."

"Ruin it?" Louis asks, mouth falling open. "It was our thing!"

"Louis," Mark says, inhaling in bewilderment. "Footie is your everything! After the divorce you refused to talk to me! The last match I went to you looked heartbroken when I was there. I thought you didn't want me to come anymore. I would never want to ruin a game you love so much."

Louis shakes his head. "It was our thing." He feels dizzy.

Mark looks at him, trying to understand. "Do you want me come?"

"I've a match tomorrow."

"I know. A school two hours from here."

"You know?"

"Of course, I do." Mark ticks his head to the side. "It's our thing, yeah? I always hope you do well."

Louis doesn't know how to comprehend this. It feels completely mad. How...?

"So," he says, arms wrapping around his own stomach. His clothes are still cold.

"I'll be there if you want." He looks earnest.

"I'm not sure I'll want to talk after," he whispers.

"That's okay."

Louis nods.

Mark leaves with another small smile. Louis walks back to the house, finally unlocking the door. He senses Harry around him, but his head is unfocused from his presence. He's astonished, shocked. Is this all a huge, fucking misunderstanding?

He walks upstairs, immediately heading for the bathroom where he turns on the tap and fills the tub with hot water. He barely feels cold anymore, but he doesn't feel warm either. He strips, sinking into the half-full tub.

He wraps his arms around his knees, head leaning back against the edge. It can't be a coincidence, though. Fact is fact. Facts don't change. Previous events don't change over time.

He doesn't know how long it takes, but after a while the door to the bathroom opens and Harry steps inside without a word. He rids himself of all clothes and turns the tap off, unceremoniously plumping down in the tub opposite of Louis, water splashing over the edge.

Louis opens his eyes. Harry stares back at him expressionlessly.

They look at each other. Harry's eyes are green, almost jade. It feels like it takes at least five minutes before Harry opens his mouth.

"I would give anything for my parents to do what he did."

Louis knows he would. He can also tell that explaining to Harry that it isn't the same situation wouldn't make him understand.

"Harry," he murmurs, but the other boy is having none of it. He reaches for Louis' legs, drawing them from his chest. His hands close around his ankles, pulling at him until Louis is forced to be close to him. Louis sits up, knees on either side of Harry's thighs, straddling him.

Harry grasps his wrists, chest brushing Louis' elbows where they're locked between them. Their faces are only inches apart, Louis standing on his knees and Harry gazing up at him. Louis can't look away.

"You don't listen when I explain," Louis whispers after what feels like a lifetime. "You don't want to understand."

Harry's gaze remains resolute. "You don't even bother explaining. You don't tell me properly. I can't read your mind to get the seventy-five percent of the thoughts in your head that you keep to yourself."

"Our families are similar, but if I tell you our situations aren't the same, will you accept that?"

"Yes." The conversation is tense, solemn and serious. Harry's hands still don't release Louis' wrists, keeping him locked in the same position. "But I won't accept how you're dealing with yours."

"Why?"

"Because you could have the things you want, and you don't understand that."

"You don't know what I want."

"Yes, I do." His voice is clear, pupils focused on Louis'. "A whole family. A scholarship. To get out of the mess that's your life."

"You don't know anything," Louis whispers.

"You don't listen to me," Harry says.

"Why would I?"

"I know you."

"I know you, too."

Harry drops Louis' wrists, making him gasp when he wraps his arms around Louis' torso instead, elbows digging into his back and hands flat against his skin higher up. Louis is pressed against Harry, tummy flush against Harry's chest. His chin is against the hollow part between the halves of Louis' ribcage.

"You should listen to me."

"Why?" Louis inquires, their voices just as grave, controlled and moderate as before. A business meeting, almost.

"Because I know better this time," Harry says. "And I need you to trust me."

"And if I do?"

"Then you won't regret it." His words end in a whisper.

Louis stares down at Harry. The water around his upper thighs is still warm, but inside he feels even hotter. His lower lip has parted just a tiny bit from the other, his breathing deep. Their shared gaze is too intense. It's so thick, it feels like the molecules of the air are vibrating between them.

Louis' fingers are light on each of Harry's shoulders. Harry's hands sink down his back excruciatingly slowly, fingertips barely touching his shivering skin. Harry's gauging Louis' reaction as his fingertips go lower and lower. They're still only staring at each other as his hands touch Louis' arse. Louis gasps audibly. It doesn't break the tension, but Harry's eyes widen, chest falling as he exhales heavily.

He looks enlightened, like he might've realized something. Louis presses his lips together, Harry's eyes suddenly flickering over his face. His hands tighten on him, fingers digging into his skin as he sits up straighter, and all of a sudden Louis' crotch is pressed to Harry's torso.

Harry knows how hard he is, just like Louis can feel Harry's length grazing his thigh. Louis stays locked in Harry's eyes, heart pounding in slow, heavy beats.

He finally stands after minutes, freeing himself from Harry and leaving the tub. His knees are wobbly, practically shaking as he walks out of the bathroom and to his room. He's still dripping when he comes back, bottle of lubricant in his hand.

Harry's gaze follows him as he comes back, closing the bathroom door behind him. Louis swallows, placing the bottle of lube on the edge of the tub next to the wall. He gets back into the tub, knees shaking. Harry's hands hurry to his waist, gripping him almost too tightly as he straddles him once more. The grip is nice. It feels settling, and Louis feels secure.

"I thought you didn't want." Harry words are barely audible, but they're unwavering and his eyes aren't leaving Louis'.

Louis shakes his head. He didn't think Harry wanted.

He leans forward, stomach meeting Harry's chest again and Harry's hands instantly tighten around his lower body. His hands are huge, powerful. Louis wants him.

Harry leans forward, forehead landing solidly against Louis' chest, the bridge of his nose pressing into his skin. Louis squeezes his eyes shut, fingers knotting in Harry's hair, fisting his curls in painful grips. Harry exhales hotly against Louis' stomach, pressing a fiery kiss there.

Louis doesn't moan, but his breath is rapid and shallow. He feels it when one of his hands leaves his body, the sound of opening the lube bottle making his tummy flutter. It's happening.

Feeling Harry's finger brush against his hole is something else to what he's ever felt entirely. He's never touched himself like that, never dared to, but he wants it from Harry. His whole body is stiff, but it's from longing and anticipation.

"Breathe," Harry says, and so Louis does as soon as he feels Harry's lips sucking into his skin again. It's slightly painful, teeth nipping in the same spot at his sensitive skin, but it keeps him distracted from his nerves.

He keeps his eyes shut, but his mouth opens in a silent gasp as the tip of Harry's index finger presses inside him. The sensation is foreign and a little bit scary, but Harry's other palm pressing against the small of his back is keeping him steady. His long finger pushes in further, feeling thick inside him. But it's wet from lubrication, and he feels so fucking close to the other boy it makes his insides warm. He feels like liquid, body in Harry's complete control.

Harry rubs his finger in and out, the slide getting more and more comfortable for the longer he does. Louis knows that by this time Harry would want more, but Harry's experienced and Louis isn't used to this. Harry knows too, and he takes his time, making sure he's thorough and Louis has time to enjoy the feeling. He does.

Eventually, he tugs on Harry's hair, gasping immediately after as his finger slowly pulls out. He feels strangely empty for a moment, but it's not long before two of Harry's fingers hover over his hole, only the tips pressing inside. He's wet enough that it doesn't hurt, but it stretches. Harry's other hand pats his back reassuringly, reminding him to breathe. All the while, Louis' hands continue to stay locked in the other boy's curls, feeling his hot breath against his torso. He doesn't know how to breathe without stuttering, but Harry's fingers are sure and it makes him feel calmer.

Louis doesn't know how long it takes, but it seems like hours. They work up to three fingers, and it's excruciating in many ways. Harry's fingers are so long and slender, and it hurts at first, but it also makes him feel so fucking close to him. It all makes his body feel simultaneously boneless and tense.

Finally, Louis thinks he's ready and Harry must feel it from how he shifts, Louis surprising even himself by how he pushes back against Harry's fingers. It's something Harry usually does, but it seems so incredible that this time their positions are changed.

Harry crooks his fingers. Louis almost comes on the spot.

"Mother fucker!"

Harry's laugh is just as sudden. His cackle is quick and over soon, seriousness taking over again, but it still makes Louis' chest warm. Harry is dimpling. He can tell. Louis presses his thumbs into his craters, fingers light and eyes still closed. However, his knees are hurting from being pressed to the floor of the tub, and the water, he realizes, is nearly cool.

"Harry," he breathes, word merely a whisper.

Harry wraps his entire right arm around Louis' waist, holding onto him as he hoists himself up with the other hand clutching the edge of the tub. For a second Louis thinks they're going to fall and kill themselves, but Harry's arm tightens around him, helping him out of the tub. He's able to lean on the other boy, Harry carrying most of his weight.

There's a rug on the bathroom floor. Its colour is dark, purple edging towards black. His Mum bought it only last week. It's fluffy, entirely soft against Louis' back as Harry places him on it, carefully laying him down on the floor. Louis instinctively spreads his legs, Harry fitting himself perfectly between them, pressing another kiss to the raw spot on Louis' chest.

Louis' heart is a hammer slamming against his ribcage. Harry's thighs rubbing against his own is making his nerves spark once again, but he's already wet and open from Harry's fingers and he really, really wants this.

He wonders how Harry felt the first time Louis buried himself deep inside him. Was he nervous like Louis? It must have been so different, because back then they weren't even friends. They didn't trust each other, weren't even kind to one another. He wonders if Harry felt safe with him. Louis feels safe right now.

Harry leans down over him, elbows resting on the rug by his head. He's looming over him, but it isn't intimidating, only intimate. He lines himself up, if perhaps a bit hesitant at first. Louis' hands slide onto his shoulders, palms flatly stroking over his shoulder blades, and then after a moment his boy visibly relaxes.

The moment the head of Harry's cock pushes past Louis' rim, everything seems to turn into slow motion. Louis can feel Harry's ragged breathing against his neck, chest expanding against his, and his soft curls tickling his throat and cheek. He also feels Harry's knuckles at the inside of his thigh as the other boy eases himself inside.

Harry feels like everything at once. Imagine it raining for the first time after the longest of droughts. Imagine the sun poking out for the first time after a dark winter. Envision inhaling after being trapped under water. It also feels like being torn in two, but at the same time being put together. It's the best feeling.

Louis knew Harry was big, but it's so different actually knowing it like this. He presses inside Louis in a slow, long movement, making him squeeze his shut, biting his cheeks terribly hard.

He lets out a broken sob once Harry bottoms out, breath feeling knocked out of him. It takes him a moment to get used to the size of him, taking deep breaths, head heavy against the floor. With his eyes closed, all he can see is darkness, thus every other sense feels enhanced. All he can feel is Harry. Everything is just him. His hands, the tickling of his hair, his smell.

Harry starts moving when Louis signals it's okay, and the movement is fucking incredible. There's a spot inside him. He knows exactly where Harry's is and how he reacts when Louis rubs against it, but when he finds out for himself what it actually feels like, he's completely speechless. He can't describe it, and he can't convey to Harry how he feels either. It's unexplainable. The other boy usually swears or groans, even complains in a terrible no-actually-means-yes language, but Louis can't do that.

His eyes feel wet.

He suddenly gasps, whining at Harry's strength on him as he continues to push into him, abruptly moving in a much faster pace. His hold is firm on his body. He keeps him in place, in a way that he's restrained, but it's not forceful or suffocating; it's anchoring.

The position is so unusual, but it feels good. Harry is moving firmly inside him, making him wince and inhale in pleasure at the same time. The sensations of his hips and thighs moving against his own, skin sliding against skin, is overwhelming. He feels entirely encompassed by Harry's bigger body, back arching as he thrusts into him.

When Louis comes, his legs are shaking. Harry's thrusts against his prostate are relentless, and Louis gives in much too soon. Their sex usually lasts for so much longer, but this isn't like normal. His come splatters on his stomach, another thing that he's not used to.

But then when Harry comes only seconds later, he realizes that they never used a condom. Harry releases deep, deep inside him, wetness filling him up. It's not the most pleasurable thing, but Harry's heavy body on top of him makes it feel so incredibly worth it. It makes it better somehow.

It takes them ages to come down. Their breaths are heavy and rapid, Harry's forehead sweaty on Louis' neck, and his nails are still dug into Harry's back in return.

Every nerve in his legs seems to be strained, but at the same time his limbs are lax, spread wide under Harry. Eventually he has to pull out of him, and it's fucked up how much Louis misses having him inside him already. Afterwards Harry grabs a towel that he soaks under warm water, cleaning them both off. He keeps his arm around Louis as they silently tip the bedroom, creeping in under the duvet.

Harry sidles up with him, arm wrapping over his stomach and where Louis is lying on his back, exhausted.

"I'm still shaking," Louis whispers, looking down at his thighs in bewilderment, even though he can't see them in the dark.

"You're wonderful," Harry whispers back, looking precisely as astonished. Louis closes his eyes, but Harry places a plump, wet kiss onto his lips from the side. Then another, and another. Five. Louis doesn't have the energy to kiss back much, entirely content.

"This wasn't good," Harry murmurs against his lips, fatigue evident in his voice. His breath brushes over his face.

"Why?" Louis asks, almost drifting already.

"Footie."

"Forgot," Louis murmurs. He can't bring himself to care.

"Was it okay?" Harry whispers. Louis silently nods, nose bumping Harry's. "You're better at it than me."

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if Harry isn't used to topping because to Louis he was amazing. That's all that matters.

"I loved it." It's almost too close to those other words.

Louis could do it. He could actually tell Harry about the butterflies in his stomach. But he doesn't.

Harry turns over, and Louis moves up to fit into his body from behind, squeezing him close. He still smells like sweat and sex, curls damp. It's pretty fucking scary how much he means to Louis.

**
Warm up is hectic. Much like the previous match, the anticipation and excitement is swimming in Louis' veins, the rest of the boys pumped and ready next to him on the pitch.

Louis can still feel last night in his bones.

He went out like a light as soon as he closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly. When he woke up little past ten in the morning, Harry was already downstairs, making "proper" breakfast, as he called it. That meant pancakes with bacon, egg on toast, and tea.

They didn't mention the previous night. Neither did they have to, but Louis felt as though Harry was keeping himself distracted from the subject. The moment Louis strolled into the kitchen, hair ruffled and face still scrunched from sleep, Harry was moaning on and on about the game, the opposing team, the talent scouts, Liam's goal kick technique — anything, honestly. After a while Louis figured he was just nervous about the match.

They ate a sizeable brunch, packed their bags and rode over to the school where the bus was waiting to take the team to the town where the semi-final game is being held. He received a text just before arriving from Niall. Can't make it to the match. Believe in you. We will talk.

It left Louis feeling fairly reassured they could repair their friendship somehow. It's okay, he supposes, that Niall isn't there to watch him for once, because he's already spotted his mum, Lottie and the twins in the stands. He hasn't seen Mark yet, though.

The team huddle up before kick-off, wrapping their arms around each other and hyping themselves up. Harry's arm is solid on top of Louis', Liam standing between them unbeknownst to the way Harry's fingers are pressing into his arm.

The game starts in only a few minutes. After their huddle they go to the bench for a last drink. As Louis chugs down at least a third of his bottle, he notices Coach Abrahams pulling Harry aside. They talk lowly, carefully. Louis' eyes flick to the crowd, instinctively searching for Jay and the girls. He always finds reassurance in knowing they're there. He finds them, but he's completely stunned when there's a fourth girl standing with them.

Fizzy.

Her hair is long and dark, looking like an exact copy of their mum. She's beautiful. Louis' missed her. He can't believe - And oh. There's Mark as well. All of them. Watching his game.

Louis quickly averts his eyes, feeling so astounded and fucking... fucking... He doesn't know. It's heart-warming.

He walks out to take his spot on the pitch for kick-off, opponents and teammates doing the same. Louis is about to walk up to the referee to flip the coin, but suddenly Harry's there.

"They're not here," he says. A pang of sorrow and distress hits Louis at first, then comes the anger. Harry's parents didn't come. It's so fucking unfair, because not only did Louis' dad come like he promised, but there are six people cheering him on. Harry's got none. Before Louis can say anything, Harry continues in a quick pace. "The scouts are not here."

Louis' stomach drops. Oh.

"What?" he whispers.

Harry's eyes are clear and his voice is filled with purpose. "The scouts from Manchester aren't coming tonight. They're only going to watch the Championship final. Coach didn't want me to tell you because he thought it would only stress you out, but... We have to win, Louis. They're never going to watch us play if we don't get to the final."

Louis' heart is almost beating harder than last night when they had sex. They're not here.

Slowly, he nods.

Talking to the referees and the captain of the other team goes by in a blur, Louis unable to even remember what the other captain looked like.

Once the match's begun, everything turns into a haze of tackles, free kicks, dribbles and passes. None of the teams score. Liam saves, and their keeper saves, Harry hits the goalpost and they hit the crossbar.

By the time the match is coming to an end, everybody is exhausted. It's even. The crowd is on their toes, the coaches are yelling, and the match feels far too familiar to the first one of the season. Louis' skin is prickling, Harry's words echoing through his head. His entire family is watching him play.

There's only a few minutes left. Louis makes it past one of the other team's half backs, ball close to his feet. He sprints, the ball safely following his movements. Harry's running on the other side. There are two players defending in front of them.

"Hey!" It's Stan, suddenly calling from his left, having spurted to catch up. They're three against two.

Louis quickly passes him the ball, running toward the middle of the penalty box. Harry's in there with him, and two defenders in blue jerseys as well as their keeper. Stan makes the cross.

The ball flies high above their heads, Harry jumping up to head it into the goal. He misses. It lands against Louis' chest and he brings it down, kicking with all of his might, making it fly straight up in the roof of the net, the keeper nowhere near able to reach it.

It's a goal.

Louis is tackled down by Harry, not much later by Stan and the rest of the boys. The pile is huge and somebody grabs Louis' head, smacking his lips to his forehead, subsequently yelling in his ear. The boys are heavy on him, but all Louis can feel is relief. Happiness, too.

They won. They fucking won.

They all start to roll off, a few more minutes remaining of the game. It's a mess. Louis' not sure who's who, and he can't see much other than striped jerseys. But then. Harry's eyes. He's smiling at him in pure awe and adoration from where he's lying between cleats, mud, and limbs belonging to Donny lads.

In the midst of it all, Louis kisses Harry.