Coach was upset about Harry leaving in the middle of practice, but it was nothing in comparison to his fury when Louis didn’t even show up the following day. Harry received a text message from Louis that morning, telling him that he wasn’t intending to show. Harry replied with simple question marks because it was truly setting a precedent. Louis didn’t deem it worthy of a response.
“What is going on with you boys lately?” asked Coach Abrahams during practice, when the team was practicing zone defence during corners. He’d calmed down from his five minutes of swearing when the boys made it clear that Louis hadn’t even turned up to school that day.
Of course, it concerned Harry. He didn’t want to admit it, but he wondered if there was a chance that his own behaviour the day before was the reason. Part of him felt it was unlikely — he’d fought with Louis so many times he couldn’t count them, and it hadn’t ever resulted in Louis missing football. Rather the opposite, with Louis becoming a satanic dictator the next practice in order to punish him. Harry supposed it was the guilt that was tripping him up. He felt remorse for going ballistic, and frankly, it embarrassed him to be so easily triggered by Jasmine. She was winning, and by a landslide. He had to be stronger.
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking over at where Coach was crossing his arms, eyes firm under the edge of his red cap. The wind tugged at all of their clothes, and knowing December in England it would be raining soon. Harry was grateful for his thick training jacket and the long johns beneath his football shorts.
Coach’s arms fell open. “I thought you two were getting better! It looked like it. Louis even passes you the ball sometimes. But now I’ve had you pissing off in a rage yesterday, and Tommo’s not even showed up for the first time in his life!”
Harry shrugged. “What can I say? He’s unreasonable.”
He squinted at him. “Don’t you care, Harry?”
“Why would I care about him?”
“About the team then.”
“I do care about the team!” His voice was higher than expected, and he felt some of his teammates’ glances at him. He stepped aside, a few yards off from where the boys were going through the drills. He drew a breath, crossing his arms in front of Coach Abrahams. “I care. I’ve been planning these trainings for half the year now. Even when Tomlinson is trying to undermine me during my own practices, I’m doing everything I can to help. It’s not my fault that he is unable to co-operate.”
“I know you are trying, and so is he. But you are trying separately. If we’re meant to win the championship next term you need to work together.”
Harry shook his head. It was most of the time easy to convince Louis to do what he wanted when it came to sex. When it came to football it was as if talking to a wall.
“Tell it to him,” he said.
“I have, plenty.”
“Then maybe he is the issue.”
Coach wasn’t having that. “Styles. Once you realise that it’s both of you that need to improve, we will be greatly ahead of where we are now.”
Harry stared at the rest of the team where they were all huddled around one of the goals. Ed made a corner kick and Liam easily shot up from the ground and caught the ball in the air before Jonah could reach it with his forehead. Easy. They tossed the ball back to Ed for another try.
“Fine,” Harry muttered. “I will try to improve.” Even though the problem was clearly Louis.
Coach Abrahams seemed happy with that response and let him get back to training. Although his head was elsewhere, his body knew exactly what to do out there on the pitch. Everything was easy. His feet knew how to magically move the ball from left to right without a hint of hesitation, and his eyes saw clearly and precisely the pitch as though through an x-ray. It was so simple, but somehow it felt wrong. Louis wasn’t screaming at him and wasn’t complaining about his actions. Maybe the rest of the team felt it, too. Harry would have thought it’d be nice not to have to deal with him, but it just felt odd.
Thankfully, Louis did turn up Friday morning for the next practice. He didn’t look an inch in Harry’s direction but at least Harry could see that there was nothing terribly wrong with him. He kind of wondered where he’d been the day before, but it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t ever skipped school just to stay in bed. Louis didn’t tell, and Harry didn’t ask. They didn’t talk.
The whole weekend passed, and all of a sudden there was only a week left of school before the winter holidays. Louis didn’t contact him during those days, and Harry didn’t try to speak to him, either. His mother returned home on the Friday prior, but he hardly spoke to her, hiding out in his room for the most part. He wasn’t ready to speak to her yet, and she went to lunches and dinners, meanwhile, he spent the whole of his Sunday at Zayn’s house, grateful for his friendly parents and sisters. On Monday, he still felt full from the large feast of a dinner they’d had the night before, prepared by the Malik family, and Zayn seemed to feel the same from the way he met Harry’s eyes during lunch, only an apple in hand.
He saw Louis around, of course, both in classes and at football. Memories of the last time at Louis’ house danced around in his mind as if on crack, but as the week passed, they slowly faded out and were replaced by pure guilt and dread. Once again, Louis was entirely unimpressed by Harry’s erratic behaviour and physical assault. Moreover, even though Jasmine refrained from texting him, she still seemed to lurk around every corner at school. It was the last week before Christmas break, though, and it wasn’t long until Harry didn’t have to worry about seeing her every day at school. While that was a shitload off his shoulders, it still meant about two weeks at home. He hoped sincerely his parents would be needed at work for most of it.
By the time the last day of school was over, it had been almost two weeks since Harry was at Louis’ house, and since they’d slept with each other, or even touched one another. It wasn’t that Harry perpetually thought about sex; it was that he perpetually thought about Louis. This whole autumn term he had been thinking about him, in one way or another. The guilt was there, the regret lingering from Wednesday’s fight, but he was sure that if Louis would text him, or they’d talk, then he could squash those feelings with new and pure ones. But Harry couldn’t bring himself to reach out. It would be too pathetic. And what if Louis shut him down? He’d asked Louis to be there for him once already, but Louis hadn’t asked to see him in weeks.
Friday night, Harry’s parents were gone from the house. There was a note on the fridge that stated they’d headed out for dinner. Harry was at once grateful. He hadn’t actually spoken much to his mother since that Sunday morning, and he wasn’t eager to, either. Of course, it stung that they hadn’t waited for him to get back from school before they were out of town, but the end result was relief. He ended up on the sofa, ate leftover spaghetti from Tupperware, and watched people from school who generally seemed to have more fun than him through the screen of social media. Liam had posted a video from his house, where he and his girlfriend, Sophia, seemed to be hanging out. To be fair, Harry could probably very easily have headed on over and been welcomed with open arms, but something stopped him.
Despite being lonely, he didn’t feel in the mood. What would he even do there? Talk about girls and drink? He didn’t want to drink, and he didn’t want to talk about girls. It was Louis he wanted to talk to, and it didn’t look like Louis was over at Liam’s house anyway. Harry scoured the posts and videos he could see from the people who appeared to be there, but he couldn’t spot a mention of the guy he wanted to see most. What would Louis Tomlinson be doing on a Friday night? Movie night with his large family? Was he in bed, tucked under the fluffy duvet in his bed, watching Grease on DVD? Or maybe he was with other friends. Perhaps the blond guy he was always with — Niall — having fun and probably not thinking about Harry.
God, what wouldn’t Harry do to be able to slip in under Louis’ duvet and stay there? For a couple of hours? For the night?
He stared up at the ceiling from the sofa, imagining cold shadows and thinking about ghosts hiding ‘round the house. But what was Louis doing? What did he do when everything sucked? Did things suck for him? Or was everything sunshine, rainbows, and footballs every day for him? Well, something had to have been wrong that day he didn’t show up at practice. No one lived a perfect life. Not even football could have been perfect for Louis anymore — Harry was his co-captain, for God’s sake.
Thinking about football got Harry to his feet. If there was one thing other than Louis Tomlinson that could get his mind to turn off all the things he didn’t want to think of, it would be football. Maybe it was the same for Louis? Maybe he spent his Friday nights trying not to think about things, too. Maybe… just maybe, he was at the football pitch.
Eager to get out of the house, Harry jumped into a pair of sneakers and pulled a beanie down his hair and a jacket over his hoodie. Outside it was dark, only street lights painting circles of yellow along the pavement, and the cold cut in through his jeans as he made his way towards school. There had been no snow yet this winter, but it felt like the rain might crystalise any day now. He wished he wore gloves.
The school parking lot was empty, and he crossed it silently. The darkness felt a little bit eerie, but he could see the open area of the football pitch not far away, the green a bit brighter and seemingly kinder. As he approached, he could soon hear a rhythmic thud. Thud… thud, thud, thud… thud.
He rounded the bleachers and almost smiled at the sight. Louis Tomlinson was right there. How could Harry have guessed so correctly? He knew that football was basically the core of Louis’ life, but on a Friday night? Perhaps Louis felt just as messed up as Harry did sometimes. Maybe he needed the quiet, serenity of football to envelope and shelter him.
Louis was bouncing a football on his toes and knees. He was smooth, did it with ease, and the practice of someone who’d done it a million times. He was in a blue beanie, his caramel brown fringe sticking out and poking into his eyes here and there. He was dressed in a thick jumper and tracks, looking like he would any other day at football practice. Perhaps he wasn’t there to clear his head, only to practice? He was after all obsessed with it.
“What are you doing?” asked Harry over the paces of cold grass, announcing his presence. Louis was instantly startled, indubitably taken aback by hearing someone talk while he probably believed he was all alone out there in the dark. The ball hit the ground and rolled away. When Louis looked up and found Harry standing there, he sighed but didn’t look entirely surprised. Harry didn’t know what that meant.
“What does it look like, Harold,” was Louis’ reply, coming out like a huff, and Harry studiously noted the nickname. Louis had never called him that before. He hoped that it meant Louis wasn’t all too angry with him still.
He moved closer as he spoke. “I don’t know. You look rather lonely, though.”
“And that comes from the bloke strolling about the school on a Friday night.”
“I was on a walk. Clearing my head.” Well, sort of. He wouldn’t admit he was actively looking for Louis.
“Didn’t know you had much in there.”
Harry reached the football that had rolled away from Louis. “You can’t keep a conversation up for even one minute without insulting people, can you?” He began bouncing the ball on his toes, keeping it in the air for a few moments.
“It’s hard,” said Louis, and his voice sounded tense. Harry didn’t look away from the ball, “to be nice to you when all the things you’ve done recently is ignore me and attack me out of nowhere.”
Louis was right, of course. Harry didn’t want to talk about that; he wanted to replace that day’s memories with new ones. He felt the guilt flare up inside again, but he kept on juggling the football, eyes deliberately kept from Louis’. The ball bounced one, two, three, times before suddenly Harry noticed in his periphery as Louis approached. With vigour, he landed a violent kick at the ball, sending it flying from Harry’s feet and into the darkness on the other side of the pitch. Harry jerked back, taken by complete surprise at Louis’ sudden outburst.
“You almost strangled me last week because I talked to that girl!” he yelled.
“I didn’t strangle you,” he defended hotly, but he knew it was a lie. He hated when Louis yelled at him, but it was impossible not to retaliate in the same manner. “I didn’t attack you on Wednesday.” Lie again. “I was pissed off.” Not a lie. And now that he wasn’t lying, he couldn’t help but spill out the rest of the truth that had been biting at his insides for the last week. “Don’t you get that she’s only around when I am? She says hi to you when I’m there! She spoke to you on Wednesday because I was there!”
Louis stopped and stared at him, face full of open confusion. “Wait, when did she say hi to me? What the hell are you on about?”
“In the hallway?” he frowned. “You were on the phone? Being all squirmy and flirty talking to that guy, after you returned the shirt to me.” That fucking Greg guy. Who the fuck was he anyway?
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“I don’t care,” he gritted out. What was important was Jasmine and the fact that she was obviously using Louis. It wasn’t all too farfetched to believe that the guy Harry was sleeping with might get in the middle of her homophobic drama. “Listen,” he said to him. “She’s only doing it because she has an agenda. She’s not nice to you. She’s trying to get to me.”
Louis peered at him. For a second, he was simply silent, but his blue eyes contained only doubt and incredulousness as he spoke. “Are you jealous?”
Jesus Christ. How conceited was this guy? Everything wasn’t always about him. All right, well, Harry did concern himself with Louis a great deal, but not at this very minute. Plus, Harry naturally knew that Louis was only interested in his own business most of the time, but goodness, couldn’t he tell that Harry was trying to convey an important message here?
He tried to invoke a solemn and sombre tone in his voice to make him understand. “No, I’m not. Believe it or not, I’m actually looking out for you.”
A brow rose on Louis’ face. “What?”