Harry’s body tightened with frustration. He had no desire whatsoever to go into specific details about Jasmine, but Louis was clearly not able to be convinced. Their relationship may have changed considerably since they first met, but they were nowhere near something as critical as trust.
He sighed. What else could he say? “She’s… Jasmine’s not nice, okay?”
Louis seemed a little uncomfortable, and he scratched at the hair at the nape of his neck as he glanced away from Harry’s intense eyes. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but she seems pretty nice to me.”
Goddammit. Harry felt weirdly desperate to make him get it, and he hated that feeling with extreme ferocity.
“She’s not, Louis. I’m telling you. You may hate me, but I’ve never lied to you.” Well. “If it wasn’t a prank, or to humiliate you.” Louis’ eyes formed into slits of distaste. “But I’m telling you the truth, Louis. Don’t befriend her. She’s a disgusting human being. I’m not gonna’ tell you why, because we’re not mates and I don’t owe you anything, but don’t trust her.”
In the midst of his passionate speech, he’d walked towards Louis, and his landed heavily on his shoulders. Please. Just understand the severity of it all, he thought. Please.
Louis leaned away, shaking his head. “This is so weird.” Harry had a short moment to feel the disappointment of failure before Louis was speaking again. His hands were thrown out exasperatedly and he spun around, sudden ferociousness in his eyes. “You are so fucking complicated, you know that? You’re fucking weird, and secretive, and you have anger issues, and you’re so terribly annoying —”
“Are you going somewhere with this?” Harry knew all of those things to be true, but he didn’t like hearing Louis insult him for whatever reason.
“— and you make me crazy on a daily basis, and I don’t get why I’m listening to you right now.” He turned around again. His face was full of confusion and annoyance, but his eyes appeared to be searching through Harry’s own as if he was actually trying to understand. “Why should I trust you? Didn’t you date her, or something?”
Harry felt his stomach sink, chest falling heavily as he gazed back into Louis’ blue eyes. “That’s exactly why you should.”
He shook his head, ran a hand over his face, muttered “this is ridiculous,” and promptly sank to the grass where he lay down and covered his face with his arms.
Harry watched him in silence, seeing his stomach rise and fall with each breath he took. He didn’t know if Louis would be taking his advice or not, but the discussion was clearly over. And in the midst of all that was said, Harry certainly had not missed the fact that Louis felt like Harry made him crazy. Every day. That had to be… a good thing. Right? At least it meant that while Harry was thinking about Louis, Louis was thinking about him.
He slowly sat down on the grass, by the other boy’s side. They remained quiet for another few minutes, and Harry thought perhaps Louis was trying to process the conversation. He didn’t move away when Harry settled next to him, so he took it as a sign that Louis wasn’t going to run away. After another minute, Louis removed his arms from his face and sat up, staring at the ground in front of them. He didn’t leave.
Harry smiled at his sneakers, where they were crossed in front of him. “You’d think I’d be dead by now, counting how many times you’ve threatened to murder me. I don’t think I’ve threatened to do that to you. Yet.”
“You might,” huffed Louis.
“Maybe.”
“I should probably kill you first, shouldn’t I, before you bury me somewhere,” he grimaced. He didn’t look happy about that. “Could probably run you over with the car, or stab you in the back when you’re not looking. Or shoot you.”
“Where would you get the gun, though?”
“Good point, Styles.” He looked up, and for the first time that evening, when he met Harry’s eyes there was no wariness on his face. He seemed calmer as he watched Harry back. “What should I do then?”
“Push me in front of a train?”
“Hmm, no. You’d probably just survive it. Resurrect again, right, like an annoying fucking ghost, haunting me forever. You’d pull a Charlie Sheen, wouldn’t you?”
Harry arched a brow, surprised that he knew what Louis was referencing. “Anger Management?”
“Is what you need.” His voice was solemn again, and Harry looked down at his feet once more. “You’ve seriously got some issues, mate. You attacked me twice this last week.”
Didn’t Harry know it? He hated thinking about it. He had issues, all right, but he couldn’t talk about them openly. If not with Zayn, then definitely not with Louis. He swallowed. He wanted to go back three seconds, to when they had actually talked without fighting. It’d been a brief, odd relief. He leaned back on his elbows, but continued staring at his sneakers.
“Fine!” said Louis suddenly, voice loud and surprising Harry completely. “You win! I won’t befriend her, but if you ever push me again because you think I’m getting it on with your ex, I will mutilate you, you weirdo.”
Despite the insult, Harry couldn’t stop the grin that erupted on his face. It was a different take on it, he supposed, but he was nonetheless grateful. And utterly surprised. Louis was listening to him. For once.
“Two and a half limbs would be what was left of you,” added Louis, and Harry laughed without even thinking about it. Another reference, to the same thing, of course, but still. It kind of shocked him that he was picking up what Louis was putting down, but he couldn’t deny that he liked it. Furthermore, he felt Louis’ eyes on his face as he laughed, and he wondered whether it was wrong to. They had never laughed together before.
“Okay,” he said after a moment where didn’t Louis provide anything further. He felt warmer, thankful that Louis had agreed not to befriend Jasmine. “As long as you promise not to engage with her.”
“Fine,” muttered Louis. “Whatever.”
Whatever. That was good enough. Great, even. Perfect. Harry grinned at the ground, but noticed in the corner of his eye how Louis reached for something in the pocket of his jacket. A packet of cigarettes. Harry watched in disbelief as Louis put one between his lips and lit it with a lighter.
“What — ugh! What are you doing?” What in the world? Did this guy not want to be a professional athlete, or was Harry completely and altogether wrong about him?
“What does it look like?” mumbled Louis, putting the pack back into his pocket.
“Smoking?” asked Harry, filled with disbelief and disgust. “Really?!”
“I don’t do it all the time, okay.”
“That’s a foul habit.”
Louis squinted at him, taking a drag. “What do you care?”
Well. It was just… odd. Shocking, actually. What else didn’t Harry know about Louis? Clearly, there were things he had no clue about. He watched him smoke in silence, noting how his eyes remained on the sky above. Harry shook his head, though, not liking it a bit. He had never smelled cigarette smoke on him before? And he knew the smell well because Zayn did it plenty. Harry didn’t like to judge, but Louis was supposedly obsessed with health and fitness.
He watched him, and the guy leered back at him for a second. He exhaled smoke right in Harry’s face.
“Ugh,” he complained, moving his head away. “Dick.” The smell was toxic, and Harry wondered why he hadn’t noticed that Louis smoked before. He watched him stub the cigarette, a stupid grin playing on his lips, probably at Harry’s surprise and dissatisfaction. Maybe Louis didn’t do it often, he considered. They had never actually kissed, so perhaps Harry hadn’t been able to notice because he’d never actually felt his mouth on his. “As if I’d kiss you now,” he muttered, frowning at the cigarette now tucked in between straws of grass on the ground. He thought Louis should have more respect for the pitch. Freaking blasphemy, this.
He didn’t even realise that what he’d said was noteworthy until he found Louis’ eyes staring back into his own, locked hard. Harry watched back, carefully observing how Louis’ brow arched upward in a slowly turning mischievous expression.
“No, no, no,” he began to say, swiftly trying to get up from the ground. But Louis was fast, and he quickly jumped the space between them, legs suddenly straddling Harry and hands pushing down at his arms. And… Harry knew that Louis loved to be mean, but he’d never teased him like this, in a well-tempered, fun way. Louis was smiling, eyes full of mischief and mirth, and it was that smile, but so much more. There was something… amorous in it. Perhaps it was because he was straddling Harry and that they’d just spoken of kissing. Maybe it was just a joke, but… Louis was leaning down.
“Don’t do it,” he protested, angling his face away. Louis’ knees tightened against his sides, keeping him down on the ground. “Louis —”
Louis grinned, victorious. “What are you going to do about it?”
“This is rape!”
Louis looked at him, disappointed he’d gone there. “It’s not. Don’t you want to feel my smoky lips against yours? Taste my mouth?”
His face was close. His nose brushed lightly against Harry’s. It was brief and soft, and Harry realised that he hadn’t considered this enough over the last couple of months. There had only been one moment before when he’d wanted Louis to press his mouth to his… That last Sunday, when his lips had accidentally slid right over his. Back then he hadn’t smelled like smoke.
“Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like to kiss me, sugar?”
“Ugh, sleazy,” he complained, glaring up at Louis, who was now further from his face again. Louis just thought it was fun to tease, and Harry didn’t want Louis to think he’d pondered this before. “And if I have, it’s because I seriously wondered if you took people’s souls with them when your mouth left theirs.”
Louis instantly leaned down once more, and Harry’s heart began beating in heavy pounds again. His nose slid gently against Harry’s jawline this time, down over his neck in a slow fashion. “You want to try the death kiss?” he whispered, and Harry nearly had a stroke right there.
Yes? Maybe? his mind tentatively suggested. Yes, his body said. Yes, please.
“Dementor’s kiss,” he clarified. “You’re a dementor.”
“Harry Potter fan?” His teeth touched Harry’s neck. Harry squirmed away, feeling the warmth rising in his bones, in his stomach.
“Who isn’t?”
“I’ve not read the books.” Louis leaned away, and Harry honestly didn’t know if he was happy with that revelation or not.
He turned his head back to face Louis, only an inch or so between their noses. The grass was cool against Harry’s neck, but Louis’ body was warm on top of him. He deliberately sent a breath of cool air against Louis’ face, but the boy didn’t move.
“Ew.”
“Let me go,” he replied calmly. Then he lifted his arms upwards in the hope of freeing himself, but all Louis did was push them down. Like Harry had discovered some time ago, Louis was much stronger than he looked. He was muscled, and warm, and could easily hold Harry down for minutes. Harry wasn’t even sure he wanted to be free at this point.
“No,” replied Louis easily.
“Don’t kiss me. Louis. I’m serious.” Was he?
Louis leaned in again. Harry kicked his legs. “Would you be still?”
“No —”
His fingers clenched Harry’s chin between them, holding his face impossibly still. Harry watched Louis gaze right back, eyes glistening in blue, a couple of rare freckles on his cheeks, fringe gentle and soft atop his brows. Louis’ eyes went to Harry’s lips. They stayed there, and Harry was so intent on regarding Louis contemplating whether or not to kiss him that it took him a while before he realised that his one hand was free. Because Louis was now holding his chin, meanwhile, his breathing was faster against Harry’s mouth. His fringe touched the little spot between Harry’s eyebrows.
He shoved Louis in the side harshly, making him fall off and land on the ground by his side.
“Jesus,” huffed Louis, as if Harry’s actions were uncalled for.
Harry stayed on his back on the ground, his heart thrumming painfully and nervously against his ribs. He glanced at Louis, pulse still making him breathless. “Were you really going to kiss me?” he whispered.
“No,” he said quickly. “I’ve told you. There are reasons we don’t do that, moron.”
“You’ve never told me any reasons why.”
Louis made a sound that very much suggested he disagreed. He leaned up and dragged down the collar of his shirt like he had done last week. To Harry’s surprise, the love bites were there, if faded and almost gone. Still. They were there. And Harry’s head flowered with images from that shower just like last time.
“This is proof enough. You can’t be trusted.”
Harry watched, stomach turning into slime and maple syrup. His hand reached for Louis’ neck.
“Uh-uh,” he refused, retreating. “What makes you think you get to touch?”
“They’re mine,” he mumbled. Louis’ neck was vaguely tan, and how was that? It was winter. There was a vein right beneath one of the barely noticeable marks. If Harry placed his tongue on it, he’d be able to feel the slow pump of blood beneath. He would be able to smell Louis’ beautiful, earthy scent, which normally smelled nothing like cigarette smoke. “I made them.”
“What do you mean ‘yours’? You’re ridiculous.” He shook his head and zipped up the jacket, covering his neck and leaving Harry utterly and completely wanting. Louis stood, and Harry followed. “Now, if you don’t terribly mind, Styles, I’m going home.” He began towards the edge of the football pitch, and Harry followed until Louis stopped and turned around. “Hold on,” he said, arms crossed. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Harry shrugged. “Walking home.” Perhaps home to Louis.
“No, you’re not. Fetch my ball.”
He raised a brow in disbelief. He glanced at the dark behind him and back. “There is no way I’ll find it, and also, you’re the one who kicked it away.”
“I think you’ll find it.”
“And why is that?”
“Because if you do, and manage to catch up to me before our paths home go separate ways, I’ll let you suck another love bite into my neck.”
That… sounded dumb as hell. But Harry clearly had issues, because the thought of burying his face in Louis’ neck seemed all too appealing. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted for the last week? Louis was giving him a chance.
“Fine,” he agreed. He saw the instant smirk on the guy’s stupid face, and realised immediately that Louis couldn’t be allowed that sense of pleasure he would clearly pride himself on later. Harry held up a finger, “But if I do, I get ten minutes to do what I want to your neck.”
“Ew, you’re such a pervert.”
“Ten minutes.”
Louis squinted. “Two.”
What was two minutes? Nothing. “Seven.”
“Five.”
Better than nothing. “Deal,” agreed Harry, and shook Louis’ hand as they both stared at one another with caution. Harry began to backtrack towards the dark pitch, and Louis moved in the direction of the parking lot.
“Better start.” Louis clearly thought he was winning easily, because his face was just a victorious smirk before he took off running in the night. Harry watched his back for a short moment before he turned over and headed to the other side of the pitch. Louis was rather fast, but Harry wasn’t slow, either. If he’d just find the ball quick enough, he knew he could catch up.
It was very dark in the corner of the pitch, and Harry didn’t particularly like it, but he made his way forward, eyes searching along the edges of the field. On this side of the pitch, there were no bleachers, only a fence following the outskirts of the school grounds. On the other side were trees and a mostly abandoned cycling road without streetlamps that looked awfully creepy at night. Thankfully, it didn’t take long until Harry could see something on the grass. Resting against the lonely corner flag on the far end of the pitch was Louis’ football. Harry snatched it up quickly, part of him eager simply to elude the dark, but another part — a hopeful, wanting, interested part — couldn’t get out of there fast enough only to be with Louis again.
But Louis was nowhere to be seen, naturally. He was a winner, and Harry knew that even if a tiny part of him wanted to lose just to… maybe be with Harry a little longer, then he certainly wasn’t going to give in to that desire. Louis Tomlinson always planned for victory. Harry wanted to win, too. And he knew a shortcut.