Harry’s legs were sluggish and his whole body felt spent as he walked home. Louis hadn’t come out of the shower, and Harry had gotten dressed and left. The walk home wasn’t far, but his mind was occupied with all kinds of thoughts.
The first thing was the dread of going home. He didn’t know what awaited him there, but his phone had several missed calls from both of his parents. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, but there was nowhere else he could go. He tried to slow down the walk further by prolonging the route, zig-zagging between streets.
The second thing on his mind was the memories of the shower. The intensity and the intimacy burned still on his skin. They had crossed some lines they hadn’t before, obviously, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. Most probably it meant nothing, and Harry was dramatically overthinking it. Louis wouldn’t switch up his act in school the slightest bit, and neither would Harry.
However, the third thing he was pondering as he strolled at the pace of a snail, was the very faintest of brushes of Louis’ lips against his own. It had been swift, but nonetheless there. After all this time, they’d actually never kissed, and honestly, Harry hadn’t had any desire to. What was the point of kissing when the feeling of two bodies moving in rapid connection was mind-fuckingly fantastic? It would only slow down movements and interrupt the feeling of excruciatingly good bliss. So, how come the slightest of touches was now replaying itself in his mind then? He could still feel Louis’ fringe tickling his forehead.
Today had been different. That was clear.
The fourth thing that swam around his mind was the fact that Louis had let him into his home at all. They hadn’t talked in at least a week, and they weren’t friends. The opposite, frankly. But it seemed Louis did have some decency in him after all. And, by the way, had he actually asked if Harry was okay?
Eventually, Harry had to make it back home. He walked up the driveway regretfully, dread heavy as lead within. He knew what the story would be. Apologies from his mum, silence from his dad. Harry closed the front door behind him, kicked off his sneakers, and started for the staircase. Perhaps he could just slip into his room unnoticed.
“Hey.” He was stopped by the sound of his father’s voice. He looked up, finding his dad leaning against in doorway between the sitting room and kitchen. He looked sad, the lines on his face clearer, his brows pulled down into his eyes.
“Hi,” replied Harry quietly. He wondered if he’d be yelled at for leaving, or if his mum was about to jump out and start her usual dramatics.
His dad’s voice was nothing but calm, though. “Where did you go off to?”
“A friend’s.”
“Zayn?”
Sure. “Yeah.”
“That’s good. I’m happy you’ve got friends.”
About one.
Harry’s father looked down at the floor. “Your mother’s staying with her friend, too. Until tomorrow, or the day after. Just so you know.”
Harry shrugged. “Sure… Goodnight, Dad.”
“Night, son.”
His father disappeared back into the kitchen, and Harry’s legs made their own way to his room and turned him in under the covers of the bed.
On Monday, Harry drove to school with a weird feeling in his gut. He hadn’t needed to rush to get out of the house before his parents appeared because his dad had already left for work and his mum obviously wasn’t home. He’d managed to eat proper breakfast and actually get dressed in clothes that weren’t training sweats and a hoodie. It was odd that his parents were worse than ever, yet he suddenly felt like he had a chance to breathe. With them both gone he didn’t need to tiptoe around the house. He didn’t like to be left alone, but it seemed to be a better alternative. It felt wrong, but he was glad his mother wasn’t home. Yesterday’s events still scorched like a branding steer each time he allowed his thoughts to venture there. He was lucky there were other fresh memories at play.
Of Louis, naturally. When wasn’t he thinking about him?
Harry met Zayn outside the maths classroom. His friend was wearing black, skin-tight jeans as usual, and a t-shirt with an action hero on. A flannel shirt hung from his shoulders, revealing the figure on his shirt and the leather bracelets around his wrists. He pulled off the look effortlessly, but Harry didn’t have to stare down at his own joggers and training jersey and feel entirely inadequate for once. Today, he wore blue jeans and a white tee that didn’t have grass and dirt on it.
“Looking nice,” Zayn nodded once Harry reached him.
“Thanks.” He glanced down the hallway past his shoulder, keeping an eye out. He wasn’t sure if it was for Jasmine or Louis. Either one. Or Louis. Hopefully. He kicked that thought away, like he had all morning.
“What did you do yesterday?” Zayn’s question came as though by clockwork. Harry couldn’t help it; he wanted to talk about Louis.
“I went to… his house. And we hung out.”
He arched a brow. “Hung out?”
“Had sex.” Harry looked down at the floor. “A lot.”
His friend was smiling. “Good, eh?”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Yes, the sex was… incredible. It was awesome as always, but there had been many new elements that blew his mind. The shower sex was new, for instance. And the slow sex on the bed, too. Oh, and the blow job. And Louis’ lips brushing over his…
He felt a nervous jump in his belly. “Is it weird that I’m always thinking about him?”
“He’s your guy,” shrugged Zayn. “Not weird.”
Harry glanced at where the nearest group of classmates were standing a few yards away, also waiting to be let inside the room. “He’s not, though.” He frowned. “I don’t want him to be my guy. We just sleep together.”
Zayn’s brown eyes were typically knowing. “Sure.”
“Stop it.” He shoved his friend in the arm, and the conversation was promptly terminated as the teacher strode up and unlocked the door.
By the time school finished and it was time for football, Harry was battling the feeling of desire. He hadn’t seen Louis yet and there was a sweet, syrupy, slimy pool of goo inside him that kept reminiscing about strawberry shampoo, Louis’ tan skin on his, and the complete and utter overpowering feeling of burying his face into that boy’s shoulder from behind. Was Louis thinking about it, too? Did he want to come over later and do it all over again?
The first thing he noticed when he saw Louis was that his hair was styled. It was fixed upwards in a quiff that seemed to accentuate every feature of his face; smooth forehead, nose sloped down in an even stroke, brows rounded but drawn into angry lines, cheekbones sharp and cutting… He was wearing a turtleneck under his training kit. Harry had never seen him in one, but a strictly objective part of him was furiously questioning why Louis didn’t dress like this all the time.
“You.” Louis was talking to him. Harry had just reached the pitch along with Ed, Liam, and Oli, but Louis’ eyes were set on him alone. Oli whistled pointedly and the three of them trudged off as Louis advanced in quick strides towards Harry. His eyes were very blue, but they sparkled with red fire. “Meeting now.”
He proceeded to yell at the boys to run laps for warm up, and then grabbed a steady hold of Harry’s training jacket. Harry rolled eyes, but nonetheless very willingly allowed himself to be towed off to the corner of the pitch — mostly because he was distracted by Louis’ face.
“What now?” he asked, but couldn’t steer his eyes from Louis’ cutting bone structure. He was angry and his eyes were full of fight, but Harry couldn’t muster up any similar feeling. All he felt was want.
“What do you mean ‘what’?” was Louis’ response. He hissed it out, like a snake. Then he aimed a punch at Harry’s chest. Harry narrowly avoided the attack, unhappily recoiling. Louis wanted to hit him? Harry just wanted to bury his face in Louis’ neck and start right back at where they’d left it the day before.
Louis didn’t seem into that, though. He was pissed as usual. In front of Harry, he unzipped his own jacket and tugged harshly at the collar of his turtleneck, huffing in a contemptuous manner that distracted Harry from Louis’ face for a second long enough for him to understand the root of his displeasure.
A small flash of surprise came over Harry as he saw what Louis was revealing, but it was steadfastly buried by the warmest, sorest, most dreadful and wonderful feeling of yearning he had ever felt. His hand reached out on its own accord, fingertips longing to touch the small marks of purple and dark red stained into Louis’ skin. Right there… an inch below his jaw. His thumb pressed carefully into the skin, the warmth of Louis’ blood ticking underneath in thrumming beats.
Louis slapped his hand and it fell away, down. “You’re such a dick,” he said, clearly full of dismay. “Do you understand what a burden this has been all day? See, this is why we don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
Louis hesitated, but then carried on. His eyes stared right into Harry’s. “Kiss and stuff. You can’t be trusted! I should have realised the moment you started with that in the shower that you were going to do something stupid. What if somebody sees it?”
Harry looked back at him, faintly miffed by Louis’ suggestion that their sex ever had anything to do with something other than… just pure pleasure. He ignored that, and also the brief acknowledgment of Louis talking about kissing. His brain logged in and over to automatics, mouth sending out the regular remark that would naturally irk his fellow teammate.
“Maybe I wanted to mark you up?”
“Oh, okay! Hmm, I feel like I want to run you over with a car… so, should I just get on with it then? Huh?” Louis looked like he was going to start elevating off the grass. “I was nice to you yesterday, and yet you avenged me by printing your fucking teeth into my skin. You ungrateful fuck, I swallowed for you!”
Once again, Harry ignored part of Louis’ speech and focused on the one thing he liked in it. “I know,” he grinned, memories playing squash against his skull. “It was ridiculously hot.” His hand couldn’t stay down it seemed, and it was reaching for Louis’ neck again.
But Louis took another step back, eyes aggressive as he looked from Harry’s hand to his face. “You’re unbelievable.”
So are you.
Harry internally murdered that thought.
“What is unbelievable is how many times you’ve pulled me aside at footie to chew me out.” How long had they been talking now? Ten minutes? Weren’t the lads getting bored of warming up by now?
“If you didn’t constantly make me want to kill you, I wouldn’t have to.”
Harry smiled then, a thought occurring to him. Louis loved this. He loved talking, and he loved yelling, and he loved to be right. He loved to tell Harry he was in the wrong. And Harry usually hated that, but watching him argue with feisty eyes and sharp cheekbones and purple marks on his skin was right then and there delicious. Harry was one of Pavlov’s dogs, salivating at the bite in Louis’ words. Because it meant them on top of each other.
“I think you like it.”
“I do not — What the fuck are you doing?”
Harry didn’t know what he was doing, but it seemed he’d forgotten they were in public. His hand was plastered against the small of Louis’ back, his lower stomach flush against his. The only problems were the clothes in between them.
It lasted for a moment until Louis pushed him in the chest and retreated. He clearly hadn’t forgotten about the school, the football team, and the general environment.
“Harry!”
Harry’s brain couldn’t switch on. “You look so hot in that shirt… Your cheekbones… When you speak it almost looks like when you sucked me off.” He wanted to be closer, so his legs moved closer. Louis’ hand flattened against his stomach, keeping him at a distance. It was both pleasure and pain.
“Do you want to get caught, or something? Do you have a death wish? Because if you expose us, I will make sure you’re in your grave before you’re nineteen.”
“How many times have you promised to be the one to end my days? I think I’d rather die in —”
“Hi, Louis!”
Cold. Suddenly the freezing weather of December came back with a vengeance. None of the pleasurable slime within Harry could be felt, only frozen arrows and spikes. Louis turned just like Harry, heads twisting to look at Jasmine who stood only a few paces away.
“Oh, Harry,” she said, and his name sounded vile on her tongue. “I didn’t know you two were friends.” Her eyes were calculative, and Harry’s insides felt only volatile things.
The hand — Louis’ hand — that had been flat against Harry’s lower stomach was snatched away. Louis’ voice said, “We’re not.”
Harry couldn’t help it. Before she allowed herself to speak more, he spat out, “Why don’t you fuck off, Jasmine.”
Her painted brows rose, and her arms crossed over her thick winter coat. “Wow, friendly.”
It was almost funny the way she played it off like she expected anything else. “You don’t deserve friendly. You’re a horrible person.”
“Harry!”
He glanced away from Jasmine’s sour face, only to see Louis’ eyes filled with horror. He looked genuinely surprised, but it was smoothed over with odd niceties directed at Jasmine. “Anyway… What are you doing here?”
Harry didn’t wonder about that. He knew exactly.
“I saw you over here, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” There was now a sweet, sultry smile on her face. She was flirting. How many times hadn’t Harry seen it directed at himself before they became a couple? Once he’d thought it was sweet, but now he knew there was only poison there.
“Oh.” Louis smiled.
Smiled. And when Louis Tomlinson smiled with effort and deliverance it was always charming and beautiful. And it felt… like Harry was going to die. It wasn’t… right. It was sickening.
“Well, he doesn’t have time to talk.” He grabbed a forceful hold of Louis’ jacket. “We’ve got practice.”
Get him away. Away from her and her snake-like eyes and words.
But Louis pushed his hand off him. “Rude.”
Louis talking about manners? Please.
Harry fixed his eyes upon him. “She doesn’t deserve more than.” He wished he could say more, wished he could tell Louis what a person she was behind that mask of cotton candy she so eagerly wanted Louis to bite into.
“You shouldn’t talk to me that way.” Her voice was flat and stony, and Harry almost regretted his words when she continued, “You should know better, Harry.”
Nausea, fear, and anger mixed into one as he hitched out, “You’re literally the scum of earth.”
He couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t. He walked off, even if it meant leaving football practice and Louis in Jasmine’s claws. He didn’t even make it five steps before he felt Louis take grab his jacket, to stop him. But even though it was Louis who was holding on to him, Harry couldn’t bear it, not for one second more. If he did, he was actually going to die. So, he instinctively flipped around and his hands connected with Louis’ chest, sending him back into an easy fall.
Louis was up from the ground within a moment, furious. “What is your problem?!” he yelled.
Harry flipped him off and jogged away to the locker room where Jasmine couldn’t reach him. Thankfully, it was empty inside, and he slumped down on the nearest bench. His legs jumped and his hands shook. In a surge of pure electricity, he grabbed a water bottle that stood on the bench and tossed it across the room. It splattered, the top coming off and water sliding out like blood on the floor in the corner. He watched it, but his mind wondered whether Louis was still out there talking to Jasmine. Was he consoling her? Was he smiling at her in that way?
Hearing Louis defending her was terribly unsettling. The first part of it was stupid. Louis was sleeping with Harry, and in a normal world he would be defending him. But that was superficial and Harry preferred not to think about that.
The second part of it was that Louis didn’t know why Harry and Jasmine weren’t friends anymore. It was because Harry was gay, and Jasmine wanted nothing more than to use it against him. Harry didn’t pretend he knew whether Louis considered himself gay, but he doubted very much Louis would delight in being friends with someone who thought holding someone’s sexuality against them was fun when he clearly wasn’t straight. If Jasmine would do this to her best friend, the same person whom she’d supposedly been in love with, then why couldn’t she just as easily do it to Louis? Moreover, Harry didn’t wish the feeling he’d felt over the last few months on anyone. Not even his worst friend.
Finally, the third part of his anguish was this: he had hated Louis for as long as he could remember. They’d fought, verbally and physically, taunted each other, and wished death upon one another at times. Jasmine had been Harry’s best friend and sort-of-girlfriend. Yet, he trusted Louis Tomlinson more than he would ever trust Jasmine again.
It later occurred to him how foolish and stupid he’d been out there on the football pitch. They had been out in the open, for anyone including Jasmine to see, and yet Harry had touched Louis in very non-platonic ways. Why had he done that? Louis wondered that same thing, and at the time all he’d been able to think about was the pleasure he got to feel each time he touched Louis. Nevertheless, it had been impulsive and stupid. Somehow, though, Louis simply seemed to drench any fear within him.
Louis had no desire of showcasing any of their so-called relationship to the public. Neither did Harry. So, it’d been wrong to put Louis on the spot like that, out in the open. Louis liked fucking in the Rover, his room, and perhaps dry-humping against lockers where no one could see, and that was absolutely perfect. Harry didn’t need anything other than that from him. But… it was just that it seemed like Harry also needed Louis, in order to feel better. The problem was that Louis probably hated him again now, whatever that meant in relation to his previous feelings towards him.
No need to explain how much he regretted knocking him down.