The goalkeeper jumped up screaming. The green team stormed towards the penalty area, their arms raised and voices a collective, piercing shriek.
It hit hard. Watching their joy, Harry only felt empty. His teammates fell to the ground, their eyes staring blankly at nothing as reality hit them. They had lost the championship.
Harry watched Louis walk away. He watched Liam slam his fist into the goalpost. He watched Jonah erupt in tears, and he watched Ed biting his lip into his mouth not to cry. Stan was staring at his shoes where he sat on the grass, and Harry heard the echoing silence from the people on the bleachers mixed with the cheers of the green team and their few supporters.
“No, it’s not okay!” he heard from the corner of the pitch. It was Louis’ voice. Harry spun around, and saw Louis angrily rip away from Coach, heading down towards the parking lot. He was running, leaving.
Harry bolted after him. He ran past Coach, who was shaking his head in sadness, and past his parents who were huddled in the corner. Harry made his way quickly through the crowd, around the corner of the bleachers, and caught Louis’ hand at the edge of the parking lot.
“Louis!” He pulled at him, tugging him back towards himself with tangible force.
Louis practically fell into his arms. Harry squeezed around his body as hard as he possibly could, and he felt it as Louis’ body started shaking against him. He felt his tears against his throat.
The sound was the worst. Harry had never felt a sound strike through his very core like that. Louis crying, against him, was the most painful thing he’d ever experienced.
His own eyes were welling up, tears sliding down along his nose as he pressed his cheek to the side of Louis’ head, holding on for dear life. Louis’ fingers clutched around Harry’s t-shirt, as if he, too, needed this.
Eyes shut against Louis’ hair, Harry inhaled. He loved him so much it hurt.
“It was only a few inches, baby.” If only.
“Close, but no fucking cigar, innit?” whispered Louis. He tore free from Harry’s arms and hurried away, far from the school and out of Harry’s reach.
In the locker room, they sat silently. Harry was on the floor, heated tears burning in his eyes. Liam’s arms were around his shoulders, his sweaty temple pressing into Harry’s jaw as they simply sat there. Lee was lying on a bench, feet on the floor, arms covering his face. Stan had punched his locker so hard there was a dent at the corner of it. Ed was consoling a crying Jonah who’d also missed his penalty. Coach was sitting in the middle, arms wrapped around Oli and Freddie’s shoulders. There were no words of wisdom tonight. That would come later when they’d had time to process.
Harry wished Louis was there. He wished he hadn’t run away. He wished he’d allow himself to be consoled by his friends. He wished he knew that the team never blamed anyone. They were a team, winning and losing. Harry just wished Louis knew that.
“I should have saved,” said Liam, shaking his head.
“We shouldn’t have let it get to penalties,” Lee angrily hissed from under his arms.
Harry sat there until it was time to go. Hardly any of them stayed to shower, and Harry walked out of the locker room, still covered in sweat and wearing his shinpads under his socks. He’d only switched to sneakers.
As he trudged out of the locker room, he spotted the scouts from Manchester again. They were talking to one of the green-clad players. His face was red, but filled with joy. It was the boy with dark hair and black eyebrows, who’d called Harry “princess”. The word still tumbled somewhere in the middle of him.
“Oh, Harry!” Mrs. Madden called out across the distance. She waved him over, Mr. Cooper smiling as Harry slowly approached. The boy in green retreated, and Mrs. Madden said, “Well done, Aaron. Looking forward to seeing you soon.” He thanked her and retired without looking at Harry, who came to a stop with a wobbly smile. “Harry,” she said, her smile kind. “Beautiful penalty. Gorgeous.”
“Nice spin,” added Mr. Cooper.
He shrugged. “We didn’t win. Unfortunately.”
Mr. Cooper nodded. “It was a good match. Someone always has to lose these things. Good job on the pitch, though.”
“Thank you. My team’s… brilliant.” He swallowed, and his throat felt tight at the thought of leaving them. His boys. “Louis, er, twenty-eight, he’s… You don’t know what it’s like playing with him. He’s like magic out there, and without him…” He trailed off, not knowing what to say, or if anything he did say even mattered.
“He was very good,” agreed Mrs. Madden. She glanced at Mr. Cooper and then at her watch. “Thank you for tonight, Harry. It’ll be great seeing you in Manchester this summer.”
Harry nodded. “Thanks for watching.”
He left, got into his Rover, and drove home. There, walking into the kitchen, he found his mother and father trying very desperately to hide a “Congratulations On The Win” cake. Harry stopped on the threshold and watched them hiss and shush each other. As he looked on, he couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You guys…” He shook his head, wiping his forehead with his hand. He felt utterly exhausted and they were… Jesus.
His mum stopped her antics, and his father sighed and gave up. He shook his head. “Sorry,” he huffed in what sounded sort of like a laugh.
Harry exhaled another chuckle. “At least you thought I’d win.”
His mother released a short, unexpected laugh, and then his father was cackling. Meanwhile, Harry shook his head, but found himself grinning tiredly at them. Christ, but he allowed himself a laugh, too. It felt oddly good.
He couldn’t believe the three of them were standing there, despite everything, laughing after he’d just lost the most important football match of the season.
“Should we just eat it?” he said after a while. His parents shrugged, and for the first time in what felt like two years, they sat in complete comfort at the kitchen table. Eating cake.
Harry hoped Louis was being surrounded by his family tonight. He hoped he was okay.
*
Days passed after the match. They had exams that week, but other than those, there wasn’t any point to be at school. Harry hardly showed when he didn’t have to.
Facing the boys on Monday after the match was difficult. They nodded at each other in the hallways, but none of them were ready to move forward yet. Harry wasn’t ready to accept that he was leaving them. He wasn’t ready to accept that next season he’d be playing with a whole different team, with lads he didn’t know like the back of his hand. He already missed them. Almost as much as he already missed Louis.
Harry was leaving. He still had a vague hope that Louis could get in at Manchester, but it was fading rapidly. By now, they had to have decided if they were taking on more non-academy players. However, there were also other academies than Manchester, and Harry was certain other clubs could want Louis if he just tried to approach them. Coach could help him.
Every day, Harry considered it as if it were his own life, but it wasn’t. It was Louis’. And no matter what happened to his football career, Harry was still leaving. He was going to Manchester. Picturing it, leaving Doncaster behind and finally running away from the things that no longer existed — Jasmine’s threats, an enemy of a co-captain, his family — he already knew there was only one thing he’d regret.
Three days after the match, he was leaning against the hood of the Range Rover in the parking lot. By his side stood Zayn and Liam, both smoking and mumbling quietly. Liam was planning to take a gap year after school, perhaps to work, meanwhile, Zayn would find out in a few weeks’ time where he’d get accepted. He wanted to study film, which Harry knew was a perfect fit for him.
“Did Louis say anything about uni?” Harry asked Liam. Maybe he could study something cool.
“Nah.”
Zayn frowned. “Why doesn’t he try any local clubs? A lower league, or something?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. He never knew what Louis was thinking. He never knew, and yet sometimes he did. He knew that he was hurting right now.
“When are you leaving?” asked Liam.
“I think pre-season starts at the end of July. By then, I guess.”
Liam smiled, but it faded. “Can’t believe you’re gonna’ be at United, mate. Have you told Louis?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing to say.”
“Are you going to tell him?” Liam raised a brow.
“Tell him what?”
Zayn snorted. Harry shoved him in the arm. He recoiled, but pulled his shades down enough to give him a look. “That you love him, you twat.”
“I think he knows that.”
Liam scoffed. “Like you know that he loves you?”
Harry squinted at him, but Liam sighed and his eyes slipped to Zayn. The two of them looked at each other for a long, conspicuous moment. Liam’s lips pulled into a straight line, and Zayn’s frown deepened.
“Harry…”
He watched them back in confusion. “What?”
Liam placed his hands on the top of the hood, palms splayed across the black expanse. “Enough is enough.”
“We know you’ve been through it — we know that. You’ve had a lot to deal with lately, and that can’t have been easy handling, but… enough is enough.”
“You can’t do this to yourself anymore.”
“Do what?” he asked, brows knitted.
“Wallow in this absolute misery! It’s consuming you.”
“I’m not —” The simultaneous looks on their faces silenced him.
“Look,” Zayn said, “at this point, you need to get it over with. Have the conversation.”
“I just…”
“Harry,” he said sternly. “If that fucking party with Jasmine hadn’t happened, where would you two be right now?”
He swallowed. “Together.”
Yes. They would have been together, and maybe then Manchester wouldn’t have come between them so jaggedly.
“And if you wouldn’t have talked to him about the kiss on the pitch, then he would have talked to you.”
“How do you know that, Li?”
“He tried at footie practice, right?”
Harry stared at him. “What? When?”
“At footie practice, a while after the party? I saw it. I was drinking water, he walked up to you, looking fucking scared, and then you totally ignored him. He just about crawled off, as if you’d stabbed him.” Liam’s voice had turned harder, and Harry’s eyes danced over his face as though he’d never seen him before.
He’d forgotten. With everything that had happened, he’d fucking forgotten about that moment. Had Louis actually wanted to talk that day? Had it not been about football at all? That moment, when Harry had been preoccupied thinking he’d ruined Louis’ life, accepting Manchester. What if he’d just answered? What if his head hadn’t been filled up with so many mashed-up feelings? What if they would have been together by now?
Harry pressed the bottoms of his palms to the undersides of his eyebrows. The dark pressure felt good. Nothingness seemed to feel better than the cluster inside his body.
Harry felt Zayn’s fingers squeezing around his upper arm. “If you need us, we’ll come with you. I can wait in the car around the corner. You won’t be alone.”
He shook his head. The thought of standing in front of Louis, laying it all out, baring his insides… It was daunting.
Liam’s voice was gentle. “You need to talk to him, Harry. He loves you, but you won’t believe it until he says it. You love him, but he probably won’t believe it until you tell him. So, just… do it. You’ll regret it otherwise.”
He would regret it. He already knew that.
It would eat him alive if he didn’t.
Louis wasn’t easy. He was difficult, hard-to-read, stubborn, and shelled-up, and yet somehow Harry knew that all of that was only the exterior. On the inside he was soft. Behind that façade, Louis was warm and gentle. He’d allowed Harry to make a home out of his bed. He’d allowed him to get used to sheets scented with fruits. He’d let him use strawberry shampoo for months, drink cinnamon-and-apple tea and eat avocado toast in the morning, and have leftover pizza on late Saturday mornings in his room. He’d let him fall in love with his smell, with his fringe that always dipped into his blue eyes, and the fine hairs below his belly button. He’d let Harry fall in love with him.
So, even though Louis was the scariest person in the world at that moment, he was also the gentlest when he wanted to be. Harry knew that whatever Louis felt towards him, he would never intentionally hurt him. Not now. After all that they’d been through. He would never stand there, hear the words and discard them with hurtful words. If he didn’t feel the same, then he’d be sorry. He’d break Harry’s heart, but he’d still be gentle.
Harry removed his hands and looked back at his two best friends with both love and apprehension. “I know,” he said. “I know. I’m going to tell him.”