“Well,” said Louis suddenly. He sounded bothered. “Harry is one of the best players on the team. He deserves to be captain. He’s done a lot for the team, and I really think he could get somewhere, playing football.”
Yet again, Louis surprised him. Before, when he hadn’t ever touched Louis, he thought he had him figured out. He thought he knew what a close-minded and stuck-up person he was, a bully, who only saw himself. It was clear to Harry that while Louis did possess the ability to push him into the deepest grave of agony, he could also lift him out of it at any time he desired.
Harry couldn’t believe he had just said those words. His heart beat like a hammer.
“Well, that’s great, Harry,” said Uncle Barney. Harry met his eyes briefly, and he did look like it intrigued him, but Harry couldn’t appreciate it at that second. He could only think about Louis’ mouth saying those words, and the way his thigh felt against Harry’s under the table.
“It is.” Again. Louis’ voice. Love.
Let’s move over to the living room, okay?” said Harry’s mum. Everyone appeared to agree that was the best idea. Harry stood first, and Louis followed instantly. It felt good, knowing Louis was by his side. Harry needed him closer, so he wrapped his arm around his waist, tugging him along towards the living room.
He sat down, eyes squeezing together. Inhale, exhale. He felt the sofa dip next to him as Louis settled by his side.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” he replied swiftly. He swallowed. “Whatever.”
How could it be that Louis was the one asking this? Why wasn’t his mother asking him this? He wiped a hand across his face, opening his eyes as his grandmother Jackie and Uncle Barney walked into the room and sat down around the coffee table.
“That was strange, huh?”
Harry almost glared at Uncle Barney. He was the funny one, and usually, Harry appreciated his sense of humour and general happiness, but at this moment, he didn’t like it. How come they wouldn’t just ask it? Couldn’t they address it? Why did Harry have to do the hard part every single time?
Louis chuckled. He laughed. Harry almost looked up to stare at him. Louis was giggling at something Harry’s uncle had said. It felt so entirely unfitting and alien, yet everything Louis seemed to say tonight was making him feel better. He didn’t know why he was laughing, because Harry didn’t see any humour in it, but the sound of Louis’ amusement was something he didn’t hear often.
“Here’s to hoping dessert will be better,” said Uncle Barney.
“Do you know what you’ll wish for, before blowing out the candles?” asked his grandma.
Harry knew exactly what he’d wish for. He knew it was also unrealistic. You couldn’t go back in time and change something. You couldn’t decide how people would react to things, either.
Inhale, exhale. He pulled Louis closer.
“Don’t know what I’d wish for, Grandma. Got all I need already."
There was a light slap against his chest. “You’re so gross,” huffed Louis in his ear. His body was warm next to him, though. He felt faintly better with Louis breathing against him. It was easier to follow the rhythm of inhale-exhale. Louis stayed close to him.
Harry couldn’t help but let a little smile show. “You love it.”
The next words threw him. They did his head in.
“You two are so cute.” It was his grandmother, again. You two are so cute.
How come his grandmother, and the rest of his grandparents for that matter, could see it so easily? How could his grandparents, all five of them, understand and accept it so easily? They were all over sixty years, Harry saw them a few times a year tops, and yet his parents, whom he lived with, were either in denial or couldn’t tell what was going on with him. How could grandmother — his sweet, sweet grandma, so intelligent and so impossibly kind, be the mother of Harry’s father? His father, who was lazy, and disinterested in everything that didn’t accompany his golf set, and couldn’t for the life of his notice that something was happening in Harry’s life. He didn’t notice Harry.
For months Harry had felt like nobody saw him. Least of all his parents. The ones he could count on were Zayn and… Louis. Maybe. Depending on what state of mind he was in. This morning he was hurtful. Tonight… he was undeniable comfort.
The rest of the dinner party arrived in the room. Gemma sat down across from Harry, and on Louis’ other side, on the sofa, Harry’s father made himself comfortable. Harry felt Louis inch a slight fraction closer to his side and instinctively tugged him in, arm around him protectively.
His grandfather, Gus Styles, sat down in the armchair on Harry’s end of the sofa. “So, do you think you’ll get what you wished for then, Harry?” he asked. He had a very warm and booming voice. When he was little, Harry had always imagined it was the way Santa Claus would speak.
The answer to his question was less warm. It was heatless. “I don’t know,” he responded. “I’ve only seen envelopes so far.” He hadn’t even been asked what he wanted. And even if he had been, he didn’t want anything he could physically possess. He wanted what he couldn’t have.
For some reason, Harry’s grandparents thought his reply was entertaining, and they laughed in delight. Harry’s insides tightened.
“What did you wish for?” whispered Louis in his ear. His breath tickled his skin.
He replied honestly. “I didn’t.”
“No?”
“I don’t know what I’d wish for.”
“Hold on!” Harry glanced up as his father exclaimed the words, speaking louder than he had all night. “I finally know where I recognise you from, Louis!” Harry had a snippet of a moment to ask himself where his father could possibly have seen Louis, before he continued, “You work at the frozen yoghurt shop!”
Harry stilled. Louis stilled, too, and then Harry knew it was true.
“Yes,” said Louis, words cracked like he couldn’t quite get them out. Harry frowned, turning slightly to face him. Louis Tomlinson had a job? In a fro-yo shop? Since when? He tried to rake through his mind, searching for memories of such a mention, but nothing could be found.
“Why didn’t you say so? Anne and I have been there loads of times?”
“I —” His voice broke. Harry didn’t like how insecure he sounded. Louis was never not confident. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
Harry’s eyes fell to the floor. Louis had seen his parents… alone. In public. Many times. His heart rate began to pick up yet again. It seemed he could never catch a break. What was it with this day? When would the surprises stop? His blood pressure was going to go through the roof. Why hadn’t Louis told him about this?
Harry instantly hoped his parents had behaved. By the discomfort in Louis’ body language, he guessed they hadn’t. He felt ashamed. This meant Louis might have seen their astoundingly dreadful relationship play out in real-time. In a way, he didn’t want Louis to know about that part of his life. In another, he supposed Louis might not have wanted Harry to know about this part of his life, either. Clearly, there were things Harry didn’t know about Louis.
“But that’s great, Louis. Gathering experience is important for the future,” said Harry’s father. “What do you want to study and work with?”
Football. Harry knew the answer, and he knew it wouldn’t appease his parents. He didn’t care about his parents’ feelings about it, but he did find himself bothered, sensing Louis’ discomfort in their presence.
“What is this? Some kind of interrogation?” he cut in. Enough.
“Sorry. Is it wrong to ask that? I was interested.”
Sense the fucking room! Harry yearned to yell. Notice something. If he couldn’t notice Harry, then just notice something.
“Well,” his dad continued, “at least you seem to have a lot going for you. Do you have a girlfriend, too?”
There was silence. Even Gemma, who was usually the first to point out whenever their father was being particularly out of the loop. Even Harry’s mother, who delighted in pointing his wrongdoings out, said nothing. Their silence irked. Their silence was painful. Harry was tired of the silence. It was too much.
“Dad,” he hissed. He forced his breathing to work, but it got stuck in the top of his throat. He couldn’t seem to do other than speak through his teeth. He wanted to rub his chest for comfort, but Louis’ body was still against him. He couldn’t bring himself to remove his arm from around him.
His father looked confused. Utterly, and honestly. Harry couldn’t feel sorry for him. He knew if his dad simply tried to notice, to see, then he’d get it. When he was interested, he was intelligent and surprisingly skilled at things. When he didn’t care, he was lost and fumbling. Harry knew exactly to what category he belonged.
“What? Did I say something wrong again?”
“Oh, my God,” Harry yelled, his throat felt raw. “Are you kidding?”
Grandma Jackie cut in. “Des, darling, Harry and Louis are not just friends.”
He looked at Harry. “What do you mean?”
Harry shook. He felt like he was visibly vibrating from the inside and out.
“Dad, are you that slow?” What did his father mean by ‘what do you mean’? What could those words possibly indicate other than a romantic relationship? Harry was leaning forward. He couldn’t sit much longer. His body needed room. He couldn’t breathe in there.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
“Hey! Don’t talk to me that way, son,” his dad barked, leaning forward in his seat. His voice softened, and he looked helplessly around the room as the guests awkwardly looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, but…?”
Harry glanced about the room, and couldn’t spot his mother. Where was she anyway? Why wasn’t she there?
“Dad,” he said, pulse ticking fast. “Do you genuinely not get it?”
“No, clearly not!”
Harry’s pulse exploded. He couldn’t do this anymore. His father couldn’t just see and understand, and move on. His mother couldn’t see, move on, and accept. Harry had hoped that after his impulsive decision to kiss Louis in front of his mother, they could accept and move on. He’d hoped that now he didn’t have to do the difficult part, the part where he had to sit down and say:
I’m gay.
I’m gay.
I’m — Fuck it.
Fuck it.
He was a raging fucking homosexual, dammit, and if his parents couldn’t handle it then fuck them. Fuck them.
“I’m dating Louis!” he erupted. His chest expanded and collapsed in on itself. His stomach swirled, and for a second he thought he might pass out. Yet again, there was silence.
Oh, Harry hated silence. He despised it. It made him want to die. Not even Gemma said a word.
“Dating?” deadpanned his father.
“As in kissing, Dad. Having sex.”
Say something, Harry’s insides implored. His body yearned for any of them to say what they actually thought. He needed to hear something honest.
The silence was interrupted by the sound of Harry’s mother crossing the threshold into the living room. Harry looked up, and found her carrying a large birthday cake. It was green, with golden candles on top. Nineteen. Happy fucking birthday.
His mother stopped dead at the words he had just yelled. Sex. Kissing. Harry felt like he could have just been shouting satanic profanities.
“Oh, God,” whispered his mum. She glanced past Harry, eyes landing on Louis, who shrank further into the couch.
Louis covered his face, whispering, “Oh, my God.”
Did even Louis think this was absurd? It seemed Harry was utterly and completely alone in this.
“What,” said Harry’s father.
What. What the fuck did that mean?
“Oh, dear,” said his mother. She leaned down to the coffee table in the middle of the group, and placed the cake down carefully. Her arms almost shook. “Harry and Louis are together, Des, let it go. Who wants to sing for Harry? Come on, let’s —”
Harry stared at her. Harry and Louis are together. Let it go. How could she say that? Was that what she thought of it? Let it go. It was impossible to understand what she really felt. Let it go. Harry couldn’t let it go. How could he? He needed his mother to speak to him. If she could talk to others about it like it was nothing, why couldn’t she talk to him? How could she say that so easily to Harry’s father, but at Harry, she could barely even look?
“You knew?!” gasped Harry’s father. So utterly and horridly offended. “You don’t tell me anything!”
Harry had never felt more like he didn’t exist.
He stood. “Dad, please. I didn’t tell anyone.” Did it even matter what he said anymore?
“So, so — you’re gay.”
Harry hated him. He wanted to hurt him. Inhale-exha —
“For God’s sake!” Harry leaned down, and without telling his body to do it, he reached for Louis. Louis sat on the sofa, still, staring at the room as if it were a car crash on the road. Harry’s hands cupped his face, and he planted a quick, steady kiss on his lips. “Yes.”
There.
Was it obvious enough?
Could everyone see it? Did they need it one more time? If he did it again, would anybody notice how completely and unreservedly homosexual he was? If he got down on his knees and sucked Louis off, or just got onto the table and held up a sign, was it going to be enough?
“Jesus,” huffed his father. He leaned back in his seat, shaking his head. Then he glanced at the telly.
“Cake?” asked Harry’s mother.
Everyone was silent.
Fantastic.
Harry didn’t exist. He clearly did not exist in this house, or this family.
He waited half a minute, but nobody continued the conversation. Harry’s mother began moving about the room, her body a delightful flair of self-induced ignorance. Harry’s father stared at the black telly, and Louis stared at nothing on his hands. Harry looked at Gemma. His sister. He hadn’t even had the courage to tell her he was gay. Now, like this.
Gemma’s eyes were burning. Her round, green eyes bristled. Harry didn’t know what caused the fire, but he knew the way her face was knit so tightly only meant business. She had things to say, and Harry would need to hear them. He didn’t really want to. He wanted to disappear.
He sat down, defeated. There was nothing else he could do here. It was done.
Louis’ thigh was stiff against Harry’s. His eyes didn’t leave his hands. Harry didn’t touch him, didn’t dare to. He felt drained. Lost. Ignored. He needed refuge. He —
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” mumbled Louis as Harry’s mum began cutting the cake. Harry swallowed as Louis got up, plastered a smile full of discomfort at Harry’s family, and began to move out of the room. Harry followed with eyes as Louis started to abandon him. Louis was headed towards the hallway and the front door, not the place where the guest bathroom was.
“Uh, one second,” said Harry, and left the table, hurrying to catch up. Behind the corner, where they were out of sight, Harry grabbed his hand. The boy swung around, and there was only anger and betrayal in his blue eyes.
“You are a fucking arsehole, Harry,” he hissed. His jaw was clenched, and his chest heaved heavily in the blue shirt.
“I know,” he whispered. At this point, he didn’t know if there was anything he wasn’t.
“I don’t want to talk to you. I’m leaving.”
Harry tightened his hold on Louis’ hand, stopping him from grabbing the door handle. “Can I drive you home? Please. I don’t want you to walk in the dark.”
Someone cleared their throat behind them. Harry glanced over his shoulder and found Gemma standing there. Harry sighed, displeasure causing a frown, and turned back to face Louis. He looked stiff and frustrated where he stood, but his hand was still in Harry’s. His eyes watched Gemma past Harry’s shoulder, and then they fell back to Harry.
“Fine,” he said quietly. He looked at his shoes, and Harry wanted to bury his face in his neck. He wanted to hold him. To be hugged. He wanted to disappear. Perhaps if they went to Louis’ house, in his bedroom, he could forget.
“Can I talk to you before you leave, Harry?” asked Gemma’s voice. It sounded hard around the edges.
Harry exhaled. “Fine.” He grabbed his car keys from the top of the chest standing against the wall in the hallway, and pressed them into Louis’ hand. “Wait in the car for me?”
“Whatever,” was Louis’ reply, and he slid out the house swiftly, letting the door fall shut behind him. Harry breathed in, and slowly turned to face his sister. It seemed the consequences of his actions were already catching up to him.
Gemma looked angry. Her face was set in a frown, and she pointed firmly at the little bench standing at the wall. Her resolute expression told him he wouldn’t be able to leave without talking to her first. He sat down, defeated. He hoped she wouldn’t yell.
“Harry,” she said, sitting down next to him. Their backs touched the wall behind them as she continued, “I don’t know what went through your mind just now, but what you did wasn’t okay.” The velvet cover on the bench was soft under his fingers, an absolute contradiction to how Gemma’s words felt. “It wasn’t fair to our grandparents, it wasn’t fair to Dad, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Louis.”
Harry swallowed. His throat felt thicker.
Gemma sighed. “Why? That’s what I want to know. Why would you tell them like this?”
Harry couldn’t speak. His throat felt near closed.
“Did Mum already know, or what? What happened tonight, really?”
Her questions were direct, on point. Her voice was firm and steady. Her hand touched his.
“She doesn’t talk to me,” he whispered, and his eyes prickled. “I’ve tried to talk to her about it and she just shuts it down.”
Gemma stared at the floor just like he did. “And in return, you freak out and put everyone in the most uncomfortable and awful situation? Do think our grandparents wanted to find out about you like this? I know they are very progressive, but this wasn’t kind Harry. That out there was out of control.”
“What am I supposed to do then?” he asked, throat hoarse and tight. “They don’t listen to me. They don’t see —” His voice broke down. Wet tears were beginning to burn in his eyes.
“You?” she filled in.
He nodded and pressed his hands to his eyes, wiping away stupid, hot tears. Gemma grasped his hand and tugged him closer. He was forced to meet her eyes. She looked determined.
“I know that our parents have put you through it, and, believe me, it’s not just you that I’m going to have a go at tonight. Obviously, there is a reason why you didn’t just tell them alone, in a normal way. I will talk to them, and then I will have a go at them again. They’re gonna’ get their shit together. But so are you. Things like this, what you pulled, are unacceptable.”
Harry hated that her words were true. “Gemma, there is nothing normal about this. There’s nothing normal about feeling like you’re gonna’ die if you tell your parents that you’re gay.”
She sighed and remained silent for a long minute. “I couldn’t know how you’re feeling, Harry, but you’re right. Their behaviour isn’t okay.”
He exhaled. Hearing someone else say it; he felt like his feelings were finally validated. He looked at his sister. Why had she left for university? Why couldn’t she have stayed? She was the glue to the family. Without her, everything was falling apart. Harry needed her.
Gemma touched his red cheek, fingers light. “I love you, by the way. I don’t care if you’re gay. I think it’s pretty awesome, actually… and I’m grateful.”
“For what?” What could possibly make her feel grateful for any of this? Harry wanted to die.
“That you have Louis. He seems like a pretty good guy to have.”
“He isn’t mine.”
Her eyes squinted. “It sure looked like he was defending you pretty well out there.”
“I don’t know, Gemma,” he said, breath shaking. “Sometimes I think he’s the nicest anyone’s ever been to me, and sometimes he…” Harry’s stomach clenched. He looked up, meeting her gaze head-on again. His voice was harder, more fierce. “Why is it that he can make me feel so good, and just,” he snapped his fingers, “erase it so quickly, whenever he wants?”
Her answer took a moment, and her words were told slowly. “Harry, when people you care about — truly and deeply care about — hurt you… it feels like the world is coming to pieces. By logic, the ones closest to your heart can wound it with that much less effort.”
Harry gazed at her, anger and frustration almost detectable in his voice. “He just makes me feel so… I feel everything when I’m with him. Why is that?”
She smiled. “You look at me like I would know.”
Harry frowned. She would know. She knew everything. Throughout his life, she was the answer when all he felt was confusion. He needed them to go back to that.
Gemma pursed her lips. “Although, that sounds pretty passionate to me. And you’ve always been very passionate and emotional, H. I know I’ve just told you to get a grip, but sometimes passion, at least when it comes to love, is pretty great. I mean, I would rather there was passion in my life than the opposite.”
Harry needed more time to digest her words. At that moment, all he could agree on was that Louis certainly was passionate, too, and between them, there always seemed to be a fire blazing. Nevertheless, Zayn’s words echoed within him.
“What if it’s a mistake?” he asked.
“What if it isn’t?”
He looked away. Inhale, exhale. “I need to drive him home. Can you tell them goodbye for me?”
“Sure.”
“I promise I will call them and apologise.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Now give me a hug.”