The house was empty when Harry got home. His father’s car wasn’t in the driveway, and he doubted his mother would be home before Monday. Recently his mother would extend her trips over the weekend, and Harry’s father didn’t appear to enjoy sitting in the house too much on his own. Harry wasn’t exactly surprised that the house was dark when he got in, and neither that it remained empty for most of the weekend to come.
His father arrived home late that Friday evening, and left for golf before noon the following day. Harry occupied his mind by finishing homework, cleaning his training clothes, and trying to clip their cat’s claws with horrendous failure. They were getting long, but he supposed he’d have to take her to a groomer to get it done. His sister had used to be the cat’s primary caretaker, but the role had unofficially been passed onto him since she’d moved. He settled for clearing the litter box and petting her belly. Whenever he tried to kiss her feet she would claw at him, but then curl up against his belly.
On Saturday he watched Manchester United play Tottenham on telly. Premier League had started, and he was following it studiously. Marcus Rashford was a big idol, but he did admire Kane and Son, who played for Tottenham. He was still revelling a little bit in the memories from his own match, but his thoughts kept turning onto Louis Tomlinson.
Before all this had started, Louis had been a nuisance he would rather forget about when he could. He’d been just another bothersome thing that came along with school, like homework or being forced to play gently during football in P.E. class — simply a disturbance. Now, Louis was still all of those things, if not worse. He was the co-captain of the football team. Before, he’d been annoying during practice, but now the bloke had actual power over the team. Harry tried to balance Louis’ random blasts of stupidity with sense, planning, and morale, but he still only had fifty per cent influence over the direction the team was taking. He supposed he could only trust that Coach Abrahams would step in if Louis went too far.
To be honest, Harry believed Louis already had. How could Coach allow them a captain who wouldn’t even pass the ball? Were those the qualities Coach wanted in the leader of their team? He truly doubted it.
Louis didn’t even care about the boys on the team. He cared about himself. Harry knew that for certain after spending most of the previous night in pissing rain. The guy hadn’t even appreciated the fact that they managed to get a draw — probably would have preferred them losing than Harry making the crucial goal. Harry supposed he would need to have a chat with Coach about all of this.
What he couldn’t wrap his head around was what seemed to happen to him each time the two of them fought. All this energy became pent up in his body, and the fact that Louis was fit as hell just seemed to snap the system out. It hadn’t been like that before. It wasn’t until this year that their fights had turned so physical, and it wasn’t until that’d happened that it became sexual.
Perhaps it wasn’t Louis, he pondered. Perhaps Harry was just into fighting? People could be into weird things, sexually. He felt a little bit optimistic for a moment, imagining the fact that it wasn’t Louis Tomlinson that made him feel hot. To test the theory, he opened YouTube and found a UFC fight to watch. After living through and understanding the manner in which someone’s nose can change place on their face, he could confirm that it certainly was not physical fights that got him in the mood. Revolting, really.
He didn’t know what it was then. And he wasn’t particularly happy about it. He didn’t want to be attracted to someone who was such a horrible person. He’d been kicked out on the street for Christ’s sake, twice.
The only good part was that he knew one thing for sure after that Friday. It was obvious that Louis wasn’t keen on sharing their business — which was a relief. Harry couldn’t help but grieve the fact that Louis hadn’t been especially nice about it, though, throwing shoes at his face.
On Sunday that weekend, Harry went for a jog up to the school to fetch the Rover. On the way back he picked up Zayn, who came over to keep him company. His father had been gone most of the afternoon, and his mother still wasn’t home.
“I brought you tea,” said Zayn once they were in Harry’s room. He brought a green paper container from his backpack. Harry grinned, taking the box from his friend’s hand and immediately smelling it. The scent was lemony, or perhaps it was another citrus flavour? “Sorry for not getting you on Friday.”
Harry scoffed. “That is not your fault. Believe me, mate.”
Zayn sat down on the bed and eventually began rolling a spliff on Harry’s bedside table. “Still. You’re not sick, are you?”
“Nah, I’m okay.” He might as well have been, though. “What were you doing on Friday, then?”
“I was at Alex’s place, actually,” said Zayn, keeping his eyes focused on the spliff. The mouthpiece was set between his pursed lips, and Harry could see his long, black eyelashes making shadows on his cheeks in the lamplight. “You remember him, right? From last year.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s… uh.” He paused. “He’s dating Jasmine’s sister now.”
Harry looked away. He preferred not to think about her. He’d managed not to do so for a few days now. Nonetheless, she was like a recurring flash of electricity, burning his skin every once in a while. He never knew when, but he knew he’d get scorched eventually.
“Good for him.”
“If you say so,” hummed Zayn. He raised the rolled-up joint towards Harry, who shook his head.
“No, thanks.”
They were quiet for a while, leaning back on the bed and staring at the ceiling for a little while. Zayn began to smoke, the sweet scent slowly becoming known in the air. Harry didn’t care much; his parents weren’t home and they probably hadn’t been in his room for more than two minutes in a year’s time.
“You know, she talked about you,” said Zayn after a while. “Camila. The things she said weren’t so nice.”
Harry wasn’t surprised. Jasmine and her two siblings were a close-knit bunch. “She’s her sister.”
“Still. I didn’t want to listen, but she was talking.” He made a gesture with his hand, moving it in a circle at his ear. “Mad as hell.”
“I don’t really want to hear it, Zayn.”
“I get it.”
He couldn’t help it. “What did she say?” he muttered.
“That you broke Jas’ heart. You were her friend, and then you weren’t, yada-yada. You’re being mean for no reason, blah…”
“Does she know that…”
“That you’re gay?”
Harry drew in a breath. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t tell her,” he assured. “She didn’t mention it, but then Jas came ‘round and she was all pissed I was there. Bloody whacked, that girl.”
Harry remembered the temper she had. She didn’t stand down, and a long time ago he’d admired her for it. Now it only scared him.
Zayn and Jas had never been mates. They were different, down at the very core.
“Do you think —” Harry swallowed. “Do you think…?”
“What?”
Do you think she’s going to tell people? he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t because then he’d probably have an anxiety attack. He would have to explain her threats, and if he did that, Zayn would be livid and want to confront her. Confronting her really didn’t bode well.
He didn’t continue, and Zayn seemed to drop it. Harry didn’t know if it was because he was feeling the effects of the weed, or because he knew Harry didn’t want to discuss it.
“What’s it like being gay then?” asked Zayn bluntly, and Harry blurted out a laugh. “What, I want to know!”
Harry smiled, but it began to fade as he really thought about it. For a while, it hadn’t been fun. Not at all. He’d really been unhappy. But that wasn’t because he was gay, he had realised after a long time. It was because of Jasmine. He knew there was nothing wrong with him, but her actions made him feel anxious and uncomfortable with it. Then again, he’d only had his first experience being with a guy not too long ago. From what he could gather from those brief minutes, though, he knew for certain there were fairly amazing parts to it, too.
“Maddening,” was his final reply.
They spent a couple hours talking and watching tv-shows on Harry’s laptop. Zayn stubbed his joint after smoking half of it and tucked the remainder of it into his wallet. Later, there was a soft knock on the door, and it slowly slid open.
“Hello, my love.” It was his mother. Harry hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks. Her hair was long and loose, flowing down her shoulders and framing her bronzed cheeks. Her smile was soft as she opened her arms towards him, expecting a hug.
Harry stood from the bed, and Zayn began to gather his things behind him.
“Hello,” he said, but didn’t step into her arms.
She looked at him for a moment, and then walked forward and wrapped her arm around his shoulders and kissed the side of his face. “I missed you, my dear,” she said warmly. She kept her arm around him as she smiled at Zayn. “Hi, love. Long time, no see, yeah?”
“How are you, Mrs. Styles?” said Zayn.
“Lovely, Zayn. Thank you. I’ve just been on a short tour for the gallery. How’s your mum?”
“She’s fine.” He headed for the door. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”
Harry waved lamely, and his mum called out something about Zayn’s father’s dhal recipe after him as he left. When he was gone, his mum sat down on the bed, looking at him expectantly.
Harry stared back at her. “What?”
Her hands extended before her. “Well?” she smiled. “Tell me all about your week!”
“What?”
“Your week!” she repeated. Harry didn’t quite know whom he was talking to anymore.
“I’m sorry, but since when do you care?”
Her face fell. “What do you mean? Of course, I care, silly. I want to hear all about it. I’ve been gone for a bit, you know?”
“Yeah,” he retorted stiffly, arms crossed as he leaned back against the door to his bathroom. “Thanks for the warning, by the way.”
His mum looked back at him, silent for a few moments. Harry knew exactly what this behaviour was. She was feeling guilty for being gone, and now she was overcompensating by being more caring than she was whilst actually being home.
“Honey,” she said. “Come here and let me hug you.”
He sighed. Then he strode over and sat down next to her. Her knuckles stroked his cheek affectionately. “I’m going to be home more,” she said. “I promise.”
“Whatever, mum. I’ll be gone next year anyway. No need to change just for a few months, eh?”
She looked at him, and then her hand slid off his cheek. Instead, she grabbed his hands tightly and dragged him in closer. “I love you, Harry. I promise things will change around here.” He nodded. She touched the tip of his nose and smiled again. Then her nose wrinkled. “What’s this scent? Did you get incense sticks?”
He grabbed her hand. “Why don’t we go downstairs and eat some dinner?”