Louis Tomlinson had always made a big deal of Harry's birthday. Harry didn't usually like it, but this year he counted on it. He was in the need of a distraction. One time, Louis had made a cake of crème fraiche and shaving foam, and tricked him into eating it. Another year, he'd spent a full week harassing him, or "preparing him for the rest of his life as a seventeen-year-old". It was never poorly done, the footie team tended to join the fray, and it was the one time each year Louis' hatred for him didn't feel entirely loveless. There was effort there.
Harry didn't want to spend his birthday worrying about the family dinner, or about his mother's behaviour. It was painful as it was, waiting and waiting to see whether she'd burst out into a chaotic mess and kick him out of the house, or take him in his arms and tell him she still loved him. Neither of those options had happened, and it was exhausting.
"She'll talk to you soon," said Zayn the day before Harry's birthday. "Just give her time."
Harry tried to accept it, but being inside his house with his mother spinning around in a frenzied haze was becoming too much.
The night before his birthday, he asked his father if he could sleep at Zayn's.
His dad squinted at him. "Zayn, eh?"
"Yes, Dad. I promise."
It was a lie, but his father waved him off anyway. Harry jogged over to Louis' house in a hurry, sank into his bed, and wrapped his arms around Louis' chest.
"Stop it." He grunted, but didn't move. "Disgusting."
Harry breathed in his hair. "You love it. I know that."
"You're conceited."
"I'm just calling it as it is."
Louis' body was warm and soft. The room was dark. It had become easy to slip in and out of it. He knew where the creaky step on the stairs was, and he knew where to find the light switch on the wall by the door. He knew where the bathroom was, and he knew exactly which pillow Louis would allow him.
"Can I have your pillow tonight?"
"They are both my pillows."
"Yours is fluffier."
Louis made an unintelligible noise. It took a full minute before he ripped the one below Harry's head out from under him, and replaced it with the one Harry wanted. He smiled into the darkness, getting comfortable again. When he closed his eyes, he placed his hand on Louis' waist.
"Off," he growled.
Harry hitched a laugh against the pillow, but complied. "Tomorrow."
"Whatever."
Harry smiled, still. Even though Louis could be an unbearable arsehole, at night Harry had never been so grateful for anyone.
He woke up to the sound of raindrops against the window. It was February first, his nineteenth birthday.
When Gemma had lived at home, Harry always looked forward to it. His mother would bake a cake, and stride into his bedroom in the morning, singing "Happy Birthday" in a key Harry's sister and father could barely keep up with. The year before last, he'd spent his birthday with Jasmine. She'd presented him with a cupcake at his locker, and then kissed his nose, leaving a mark of red lipstick on his skin. A month or so later, Harry realised that he didn't want her to do that anymore. The memory made him shiver. He could still feel her scent of grapefruit body mist, simply ruminating.
Louis was warm against him in the bed, though. He was shirtless, pressed against Harry's side. Heavy with sleep, and smelling heavenly like last night's shower. Harry inhaled him instead, sufficiently demolishing the memories of Jasmine for the time being. He wondered what the day would bring. He pressed two fingers to Louis' shoulder, watching the way his index finger looked against his body. School, and the attention his birthday would probably grant him, was something he greatly undesired. He closed his eyes, trying to stay in the now, where he could swim in the feeling of Louis right beside him.
Louis poking him in the side with his finger awoke him a couple of minutes later.
"What?" he muttered, but turned his head into the pillow.
"Wake up. School."
"I don't want to go," he replied truthfully. He pushed Louis' hand away, wanting to burrow back into the fluffier pillow. Louis' hand was annoying, however, persistently attempting to pinch him awake. Harry bat at his hand, but to no avail. Grunting, Harry crawled on top of him, adequately shutting him down.
"We have to go to school," huffed Louis after regaining his breath from underneath him.
"No, we don't. I'm on you. You can't move."
"We have to go to school."
Why was Louis such a goodie sometimes? Skipping was fine once in a while.
"No," Harry sighed. "Coach is going to cancel practice 'cause it's raining, and there's no game tonight." There was really no reason why they should make themselves miserable at school when it was Harry's birthday, and they could be spending the day sleeping and having sex in Louis' beautiful bed.
"Classes," was Louis' counterargument. Not especially convincing.
"Not important. Let's stay in. Have sex all day." He made himself more comfortable on top of him, his groin pressing into his leg. "Your mum works the day shift today," he said as he leaned closer to his mouth. "Right, Lou? Your sister will be in school, you'll be naked, I'll be naked... Special day."
If Louis was trying to deny him sex on his birthday for something as stupid as classes, he really was a dickhead.
"Harry..." Louis tried, but his voice was void of any actual will.
Harry placed his mouth against Louis', his hands lightly gripping the back of his neck. His thumbs dug into the skin just above Louis' jawline, a heated fire steering his movements. It had been some time since they really got into it...
"Fuck me." He felt his body already aflame with want. He pushed Louis down against the mattress, hands running upwards as they kissed, through Louis' soft, ruffled hair. Louis moaned, agreeing and moving his body willingly into Harry's. That was good. This was what Harry wanted.
Louis' hands slipped in under Harry's t-shirt. They were swift and firm, and they made Harry shiver as they slid across his skin and onto his back. Harry let his lips bite into Louis' skin, right below his jaw, body turning to liquid as Louis made small noises of pleasure. When he grabbed Harry's wrists, it was sudden. It took the breath out of him, but he liked it. Louis was taking control, and Harry was much too happy for him to do it. Yes, he thought as Louis rolled them over, locking Harry down beneath him. Yes, please.
"You like to get bitey, eh," murmured Louis, and his voice, sleep-ridden and hoarse, breath landing Harry's skin, was devastatingly seductive. When Louis actually tried, the result was carnage.
More. More, more, more. Louis' hands began feeling over Harry's underwear. He quickly pulled Harry's shirt up, but slowly moved his mouth down across his stomach.
More, please. There was a ringing in Harry's head. All of his senses were focused on one thing: Louis' tongue on his lower belly. He wanted this, needed this.
Louis' mouth was gone. Within an instant. Harry opened his eyes and found Louis' head turned away. He was still, frozen. His eyes were looking at the door. Harry glanced over and stilled just like Louis.
In the doorway, on the threshold, stood a young teenager. She was blonde, with long hair and blue eyes. Her skin was faintly tan, just like Louis', and her nails were long and pink. Her hand was gripping the door handle. Her eyes were trained on the bed.
"Louis. Christ. I didn't know you were into football players."
"How long have you been standing there?" asked Louis in a whisper. Harry didn't dare move a muscle.
"Long enough," the girl, Lottie, said.
She didn't look like Louis. Her face was much rounder, her lips full where Louis' were thin, and her eyelids weren't hooded like his. Something that was exactly the same, though, was the way their blue eyes looked at that moment. In Louis' sister's eyes, there was shock. In Louis', there was horror. Her face was pale. She didn't look quite okay, but Harry saw a difference in her face from what he'd personally witnessed staring at his mother's face just a few days before. On Lottie's face was a pure surprise. On Harry's mum's, there had been fright and panic.
"Oh, well," Lottie said, voice lighter, and began to back out of the room. "Have fun... I'll just get myself to school."
Louis immediately pushed off Harry and darted towards the hallway as his sister began leaving. He was out of sight so quickly that Harry could still feel the press of his body on his own. A couple of seconds later, Harry could hear his voice.
"Lottie, Jesus!"
Harry stared at the ceiling. His heart raced. He certainly hadn't expected Lottie to simply walk in while he was getting felt up. She was a teenager, and Louis' sister, more precisely. And Louis had been about to do absolutely filthy things to him...
Harry's heart was slowing down, but it disturbed him he couldn't hear what was going on in the hallway. From the look he'd seen on Louis' face, Lottie hadn't known that Louis was sleeping with him, and this was about more than just catching your brother in the act.
Harry sat up and inched towards the edge of the bed. He ran a hand through his curls. Inhale, and exhale. Inhale, and exhale. He found it was easier to breathe than when his own mother had found out. He supposed, this girl wasn't his family, and he had after all just been through a much worse version of this. Truly, though, Harry had always found that Louis seemed very close with his family. He very much doubted that Louis' sister was going to gossip about her own brother's sexuality to anyone. Louis appeared to care for his sisters very dearly, and for some reason, Harry couldn't see that they didn't reciprocate the same feelings.
When Louis walked back into the room, he was entirely fazed. His steps were slow, and his eyes seemed to look at nothing as he flopped down on the bed. He was completely silent. Harry supposed sex was out of the question.
"So... school then?" he asked.
Louis sprung up, grabbed the nearest pillow, and used it to smack Harry across the face. "Why the fuck are you not freaking out?" he belted.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the flash of pain. "Ow!"
Louis smacked the pillow on his chest repeatedly. "My — sister — just — caught — us — doing — stuff!"
Harry grabbed at the pillow, but couldn't get hold of it. Louis was taking his anger out on him. Why wasn't he surprised? It was kind of painful, though, and he didn't like that Louis was assaulting him. "Louis, stop!"
The pillow hit him in the shoulder. "Shut up!" said Louis' agitated voice.
"Stop," he said, ducking, "making a fuzz! It's not a big deal. Stop — abusing me!" He moved away, feeling a shot of anger in his chest. "She's your sister. She's not gonna'—" He stood, fed up with being a moving target for Louis' uncontrolled frustration. He wrapped his arms around Louis' body, keeping him under control. "Dammit, she's not going to say anything. Stop being overdramatic!" And stop fucking hitting him with a freaking pillow. This wasn't his bloody fault.
Louis remained still, mostly because Harry's weight was holding him down. "I'm not overly dramatic," he grunted. "I happen to be just the right amount of dramatic for someone in my situation." He inhaled, and his next words echoed strangely, like they were rehearsed rather than genuine. "I'm not even gay, Harry. People can't know about this!"
Harry couldn't help but laugh at what a ridiculous statement it was. Did Louis really think that he wasn't gay, or were those words he had simply told himself so many times that he thought it was the truth? Either way, it was laughable.
"You've fucked me multiple times, and you love my arse. Sure," he scoffed, "you're not gay."
Louis' voice was a huff. "I do not love your arse."
"Yes, you do," he said, matter-of-factly. He gave Louis a little kiss on the forehead, because his face was right below his, and Louis couldn't shrink away from it (not to say he didn't try). Moreover, Louis looked like he actually required a bit of comfort... It wasn't like Harry hadn't had a massive freak out about his mother just days ago, going through this rather similar thing. Harry let go of Louis' body, forcing a little laugh at Louis' reaction to the kiss. "Now, I'm gonna' take a shower, use up all your strawberry shampoo and girly conditioner, put my clothes on, and go to school."
"Sod off," came Louis' reply.
Harry got up and did what he'd said he was going to. By the time he was finished in the shower, Louis was gone. Harry slowly got dressed and fixed his hair using Louis' hairdryer. It was a bit strange, being alone in someone else's house, so he hurried. He locked the front door from inside and walked through the kitchen and out the door that led to the backyard. He closed it carefully and hiked back around the house. He glanced around, hoping nobody saw him as he half-jogged through the small driveway to the pavement.
There just happened to be a neighbour standing there. It was an older lady in a morning robe, and she held a newspaper and a couple of letters. Harry stretched an awkward smile across his face.
"Just, uh, been to feed Louis'... hamster." What the fuck. "Water the plants? I meant, water the plants."
"Sure," she said, voice breezy. "Tell Louis hi, the next time he sneaks you into his house in the middle of the night."
Harry's feigned smile faded. The neighbour waved, and then turned around and trudged back into her house. Harry watched her door close, unable to move his legs just yet. Because, what the God damned fuck? What kind of day was this? How was it that everyone was finding out in a matter of a couple of days? It seemed highly detrimental.
Harry walked back home swiftly, and on the way, he decided that he was not going to share this information with Louis. He wasn't looking to get beaten in the face with anything again.
Just as predicted, his birthday granted unwanted attention from his classmates. He was a fairly prominent figure for the football team, which meant that people that he didn't even know came up and wished him a happy birthday. It was nice that they cared, and that they even remembered, but if Harry could trade their wishes for getting kissed by Louis again in bed, he would do it.
Louis didn't show up at homeroom. Harry hoped that he wasn't freaking out somewhere. Then again, Harry had also freaked out when his mother found out, and then he had done drugs. It wasn't like he could judge. He was a little disappointed, however. He had wanted to spend his day in bed with Louis, having sex, not worrying about his family, or anything, for that matter.
The second class of the day was sociology, a subject he had chosen last year, not knowing that Louis would be in it. He was almost happy when he saw Louis walk in just before the teacher closed the door, relieved that Louis wasn't hysterical enough to skip the whole day. Furthermore, if Louis had been skipping school, then Harry would've wanted to do it with him. That's what he'd wanted since that morning.
Louis didn't look at him inside the classroom, as per usual. Harry pretended he wasn't attempting to gauge Louis' mood, and instead tried to look happy when some classmate greeted him and wished him a good day. The class felt slower than normal; all Harry wanted was to catch up with Louis. When it finally ended, Harry lingered inside the classroom, and finally managed to catch Louis on his own.
"So?" he asked.
Louis didn't look happy. He crossed his arms. "She said she wouldn't say anything."
"Told you," Harry said, though he too felt a little bit of relief. Now they could go home and have sex on the floor. Or in the shower! He smiled, but then received a push against his arm. Louis' eyes were yet bristling with disconcertion. "But you're freaking out," Harry concluded.
"Of course, I am! She might tell Niall, and I don't even know what to do if she does —"
"Niall?" asked Harry, a little confused. "As in your best mate? He doesn't know?"
"No!" he exclaimed. "Why would you think that?" His eyes widened. "Have you told people?"
Harry felt his stomach sink as he watched the boy in front of him turn stiff. His eyes were colder, and there was no sparkle there anymore. "Of course not..." he whispered, anxiety grabbing him by the throat. He hadn't realised that to Louis this was all very, very severe.
Louis' whole body was rigid. He inhaled, and his voice shook as he spoke. "Are you kidding me?" He was verging on yelling. "Are fucking joking, Styles?"
There was something else in Louis' eyes Harry didn't like.
He placed a hand on his waist, wishing to pull him towards himself and hold him still. He wanted to wash that sudden, ugly crisp from his face. Maybe if Harry could just hold him, then he would calm down. Please.
Nonetheless, he couldn't lie to Louis about this. It wasn't fair. He exhaled, and his heart pounded.
"Don't freak out," he said. Please, "but Zayn knows. He found your football at my house."
"Are you fucking kidding me?!"
"Mr. Tomlinson," said the teacher's voice from her desk. "Language. You two have got two minutes, then I have to lock up the classroom."
"Sorry," muttered Louis, but his eyes were still hard on Harry. "Are you for real? Why didn't you just tell him you stole it to mess with me, or something?
"Well, he saw your pants, too..."
"You could have told him they were yours!"
Harry huffed. It hadn't been exactly that easy, not since Zayn already knew Harry had someone. "It was a little hard when they had your initials and jersey number printed on them."
Louis' frown was still heavy as he ran a hand over his face. His voice was icy. "That's it, right? Nobody else knows, yeah?"
"No," whispered Harry, shaking his head. His chest ached, and he mentally stopped himself from rubbing it. He didn't want to hurt Louis by telling people about him. He had just coped the way he'd needed to. Harry had actually tried to not share Louis' information, but he just didn't seem to have done well enough for his standards.
"Thank fuck!" Louis' voice was a sigh, but it was still loud, and Harry wanted to walk away. He didn't like the way Louis was acting. It was just different, and Harry hadn't felt this detached from him in a very long time. Crisis made people do unimagined things, but this Louis was different. Harry wanted him to go back to being his feisty and warm self. The person that would growl, but give him the fluffy pillow. Harry didn't like this cold person in front of him. Louis' voice, callous and incredulous, continued, "Cannot believe three people know I'm sleeping with you, you fucking train wreck."
It felt like Louis had grabbed a shard of glass and driven it straight through Harry's heart. The words penetrated him, staking their way through his skin, through flesh, breaking his ribcage, and burrowing deeply into his body. There, something began to bleed.
It felt like Harry had waited for something to break him. Like he had known something was coming eventually. He just hadn't expected the one person who had been his refuge for the last couple of months to be the one to do it.
Train wreck.
Zayn knew everything that Harry had been through. He was supportive, and nearly always there when Harry needed him. However, Louis Tomlinson was the one who had truly comforted him. Through those last months of pain and exhaustion from everything that kept happening in his life, Louis had been the one person whom he didn't need to feel that pain with. Sure, Louis was offensive and unkind frequently, but the true and honest pain that Harry most days felt had never come from him.
Right then, standing in the classroom, it did. It was an honest and solid ache that was spreading throughout him. Harry had been warned that being with Louis could be a mistake. He had felt a twang of hurt when he'd randomly turned on him a few days before, but it was nothing in comparison to this. That was silly. Old school archenemy stuff that Harry had used to be able to brush off with ease. This was more. It was... It felt real. It felt like Louis meant the words. Like he was speaking clear and pure truth. Harry just hadn't expected that Louis' honesty would hurt so badly.
His hand fell off Louis' waist. His skin felt frozen. Louis looked up from beneath his fringe, his mouth open as if to say something more. Go ahead, Harry wanted to say. Say it again. Louis' mouth closed. Harry's arms wrapped around his own stomach, needing them to keep his body from falling into irreparable pieces. His voice was something he couldn't recognise when he finally spoke.
"Train wreck?" he repeated. That Sunday when Harry had escaped his own house, Louis had been the one to care for him, in the only way he could. Louis had seen that vulnerability in Harry. He must have known that life wasn't so easy for him. He must have noticed, in some way. Still, he stood there, standing by his words. "Well," Harry whispered, forcing his voice not to break. "I guess you know me best to know that, don't you?"
He grabbed his things and strode out of the room. His throat was closing. His chest was aching. Inhale, exhale. It wasn't working. He couldn't breathe. He felt nauseous. He walked swiftly to the car, where he sat down and shut the door. He wanted to drive off, but didn't know where to go. Without Louis' house, he didn't have many places that felt inviting. As he sat there, he felt like his chest was shrinking. His breathing hitched, and he covered his face with his hands.
Did Louis think that Harry was made of stone? He wasn't. His body resembled a house of cards at best.
Train wreck.
It was the truth. Harry agreed. Everything he had done the past school year felt like a mess of emotional decisions that he would always come to regret. His life was a mess, complete and utter wreckage. Yet it chewed on, like a train that didn't know how to stop. Eventually, there would be bloodshed.
Harry had never wanted things to end up like this. He had never wanted to share his sexuality in that way, and he had never wanted to hurt Louis. Even after everything that Louis had done and said, hurting Louis was the last thing he'd ever wanted. Not Louis, who had turned into one of the most weirdly consoling individuals in his life.
Harry's fingers squeezed around his hair, pulling in frustration. He wanted to scream. Despite the fact that Louis' words were tearing him open, and no matter how much Louis could hurt him — and how effortlessly he could do it — Harry couldn't pretend that he wouldn't go back to him. Harry needed him. He recognised that, but he didn't want it to be that way. Especially not now, when Louis had shown him exactly where they stood in this relationship.
Zayn had been right. It was a mistake. That day before school started again, when Harry crawled into Louis' bed and let Louis make the choice for him, Harry had made a mistake. Having sex with Louis had made him blind to the callous side in him. The one who did things and said things, not caring who or how much they would hurt.
Harry felt sick. Why had he let himself get into this situation? Zayn had warned him, but Harry had clearly been so desperate and lonely that he'd offered himself up to a person who had always hated him. He still did, and Harry had just pretended like it wasn't true. The thought made his insides bleed.
"I hate him," he whispered into the phone after half an hour of internal destruction. "I fucking hate him, Zayn."
"I don't think that's true, H," said Zayn quietly. It wasn't true, of course. Neither of them was dumb enough to actually believe that. "Why don't you come back to school, okay?"
"No," he shook his head. He wiped at his eyes. "I don't want to see his fucking face."
"You shouldn't be alone right now. Just come inside, and you'll feel better." After a moment of silence, he added, "We baked a cake for you."
Harry hesitated. "A real cake?"
"A real cake," promised Zayn.
It wasn't easy to walk back into school. He checked his face in the rear-view mirror for minutes before heading inside. His eyes were red and puffy, and the skin beneath dry. He didn't want to go in, but it was better to be in Zayn's company than alone. There was nothing worse than being alone.
They had indeed baked a cake, and they brought it out in the cafeteria during lunch, singing for him loudly. It was most of the lads from the team, and a couple of Zayn's friends. Harry didn't see Louis, and he was glad. He didn't need anything more from him. His chest hurt enough as it was.
Zayn wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders, squeezing gently. "Just blow out the candles, and smile."
Harry blew them out and tried his best to look like he enjoyed it. Anyone in the mood was offered cake, and Harry poked at his piece. He didn't feel hungry.
"Do you think Louis' going to prank you after school?" asked someone as they ate. Harry forced a shrug. Louis clearly did not care enough to consider his birthday as it was.
The rest of the school day was unbearable. People kept wishing him a nice day, but for Harry, it felt like the worst day he'd had in a long time. January had been bliss, for most of it, but February seemed truly like pure torment.
He received a text from his sister around two that afternoon.
Arriving at the station at 3!!! Picking me up??
He hadn't even considered that she might be coming tonight. He replied that he would, but couldn't bring himself to feel particularly upbeat about it. He hadn't seen her in a month, and although she texted occasionally so much had changed since then. His mother knew he was gay, for one.
Zayn gave him a hug before they parted. "Happy birthday, lad. Try not to think so much. Tomlinson is a dick. We already knew that."
"I hate him," whispered Harry. He didn't.
"You don't." Zayn gave him a small smile. "That's the issue, innit?"
It really fucking was.
Harry met Gemma on the platform. She jumped off the train, holding a suitcase with wheels. She was dressed in a long coat and blue jeans, and her brown hair fluttered in the wind as she jogged towards him. She threw her arms around him, hugging tightly. He felt a little surprised at her unretained excitement, but squeezed her back firmly.
"Happy birthday, little brother!" She grinned and pushed her sunglasses into her hair, taking a good look at him. She made a face. "What are you wearing?"
Harry looked down at himself. Tracks and a tee, under a jacket.
"You okay?" she asked.
"Fine," he promised.
She was frowning, her dark eyebrows pointing downwards as she examined his stance. "Because Zayn texted me. He said you weren't too happy with your birthday so far?"
Fucking Zayn.
"Really?" Harry replied casually, eyes glancing off into the distance.
His sister slapped his wrist, but then kept her hand around his arm. Her eyes were sympathetic. "Is it Mum and Dad? Did they fight today?"
"What's new?" he shrugged, and his sister instantly placed her arm around his waist, moving them towards the stairs on the platform.
"They suck sometimes, but they are trying their best, you know?" She smiled up at him. "Let's get a coffee at Pret, and then we'll face them together at home, yeah?"
Harry nodded. His sister seemed in a good mood, and perhaps Zayn's text had made her more considerate of his. He took her suitcase as they headed up the stairs, and then they drove into town.
By the time they got home, it was almost five. Harry had heard everything about his sister's boyfriend and all the little getaways they'd had, about her school activities, and her friends. She was considering whether she should move in with her boyfriend, or not. Harry had only met him a couple of times, and couldn't say he knew him well enough to know if it was a good idea.
"I'm gonna' set up in my room," Gemma said as they walked into the house. His parents didn't seem to be home yet. "Then we can have a beer before the grandparents arrive, yeah?"
Harry nodded and started towards his room. He needed a few minutes to himself. Gemma had tried her best to lighten his mood, and it had worked to some degree, but he didn't feel quite all right. Louis' words were still digging into his flesh, and the bleeding hadn't stopped.
There was a reason it hadn't stopped hurting yet. The reason was that Harry didn't hate Louis, but rather something towards the opposite. It was painful.
He opened the door to his room and stopped dead.
It was dark. There was music. 50 Cent, in other words, singing Candy Shop. Harry's eyes stared at what was in front of him. On his bed was Louis Fucking Tomlinson.
"I take you to the candy shop," rang the music. Louis was leaning on the bed, near to naked, wearing nothing but a pair of very small, black briefs. On his head was a party hat, askew, the string cutting into his skin.
His skin. Which was absolutely shining in golden. And not the usual, beautiful tan, but actually golden. Like glitter-golden. It took Harry a second to fathom it; Louis Tomlinson was almost naked and covered in oily, golden glitter, and he had positioned himself like a stripper on top of Harry's bed.
The bed was Harry's, but it didn't look like it. The sheets were changed, no longer dark, but also in gold. The rest of the room was dim-lit, full of party décor, and shining balloons. It was difficult to take it in because the music playing was Candy Shop by 50 Cent, and Louis Tomlinson was dancing. Dancing. Writhing. Like a stripper.
Harry was in shock. At first, there was nothing inside him as he watched Louis' body move, hips rolling, the muscles in his chest and stomach tightly contracting and shining under lamplights and golden oil. Louis' hands moved down his own chest, seductively sliding them across his body and evidently attempting to move like a dancer at a stag do. Louis' hands moved up to his mouth and when he sucked on his own fingers, Harry couldn't be quiet anymore.
"What the fuck is this," he whispered. He didn't know if he was meant to laugh, get turned on, or both.
Inside, something began stirring. He didn't know whether he was praying to make this stop, or thanking God profusely. It was as dreadful as it was magical.
It was amazing because Louis looked amazing. Beautiful, of course, even dressed up ridiculously. He could wear rubbish bags and, still, Harry would want him. He always wanted him. Furthermore, watching him up there on the bed, gyrating to 50 fucking Cent, it was becoming clear this was an attempt to make Harry laugh. Louis was actively trying to cheer him up. Zayn was the only other person who did that.
And although it was amazing, it was also awful. It was ridiculous, all of it, but the part of Harry praying was mentally getting down on his knees. Louis was supposed to be the one doing the writhing and repenting, but Harry wasn't far from sinking down and pressing his face into the low of Louis' stomach, to let his nose and mouth breathe in the glitter and the smell of skin, through the fabric of his black briefs. It was amazing, and painful. Even though Louis' words could cut him, he never stopped making Harry want him.
Louis' eyes met Harry's. He looked expectant, sort of gauging Harry's reaction. Harry didn't know what Louis thinking, but Harry couldn't keep his eyes off his body.
It wasn't until Louis tried to twerk, that Harry couldn't hold it in any longer. A laugh, despite the emotional calamity within, burst out.
What the hell was he watching?
He had never seen Louis Tomlinson do such a thing. He had never seen this side of Louis. He knew the callous and aggressive side of Louis all too well, but Louis had never tried to make him laugh. He had never so ardently and deliberately tried to lighten his mood, and especially not in such a manner.
Louis crawled off the bed and danced forward until he was standing in front of Harry. His eyes were blue and sparkling again, the coldness from that morning long gone. The memory of it still lingered, however, and Harry's insides hadn't healed.
Louis mimed the song, not singing, but definitely keeping up with the bass and lyrics. His hand grabbed Harry's t-shirt, turned, and pushed him towards the bed. He moved him until he was sitting, and Louis turned around, pushing his arse against Harry's crotch.
It was a lot. His mind was off doing gymnastics in thinking, but his body was interested. He was plenty confused. Louis winked over his shoulder, and Harry couldn't help but laugh again. No matter what, the situation was bizarre. He hadn't experienced such an awkwardly stupid thing, and if it hadn't been for that morning he'd probably been over the moon, or down on his knees, moaning into Louis' shorts.
It was still kind of funny, somehow. Louis looked freaking stupid, but also unbelievably, preposterously hot.
When the song ended, Louis was on top of him still, and they both fell back onto the bed. Louis was laughing slightly, and Harry wasn't sure if he was breathing or not.
"Oh, my God. What the hell was that?" he laughed. He had no idea what the fuck just occurred. He began to sit up, on the edge of the bed, and Louis followed with Harry's arm still slightly behind him. There was some glitter on Harry's t-shirt.
Louis shrugged, but he looked serious. "Well. It's your birthday, and I was a fucking arse this morning." Louis' eyes were intense and penetrating as he watched Harry, who swallowed tightly. "I thought I'd make a fool of myself to apologise, and at the same time give you a little gift."
Harry stared at the room. Louis had decorated, indeed. It was kind of cool, a little hastily done, but Harry couldn't say he didn't like it. Pain still ached somewhere deep down.
"Well, you're a fucking arse for sure," he mumbled, "but I like the room."
Louis grinned. "Welcome. And my dance?"
Harry thought of Louis' dancing, and the way his chest looked, covered in glitter. "That was definitely unexpected. Ridiculous. And the striptease was definitely a hundred per cent on point..." he trailed off, sarcastic, and Louis' hand slapped lamely against his belly. Harry chuckled quietly despite himself.
Louis' voice was still serious as he spoke. "I'm sorry, though. Harry, for real." Louis looked down at him. But Harry was taken aback at the words. Louis... sounded sincere. He had never apologised to Harry for anything before. "It was uncalled for."
He looked away. He wasn't so sure it was. It felt like the words were very much called for. If Louis hadn't said it, maybe someone else would've eventually. Maybe Harry had needed to hear them. It felt like the truth, anyway.
Louis' fingers rose, and gently grasped Harry's chin, trying to make him meet his eyes. Harry kept his gaze averted, unable to look into Louis' blue eyes. He never seemed to know what he would find there.
"Harry, I'm sorry," repeated Louis, voice just a tad louder. "And I did try to make up for it."
As if that made the aftermath of the words any better?
"Sometimes," said Harry quietly, teeth gritted. "You're a fucking dick, Louis. For no reason at all."
"I know," he murmured. His fingers let go of Harry, and he began to get up, looking around himself awkwardly. "Maybe I should go."
Harry couldn't make his mouth say anything. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. Louis was unpredictable, he had always known that, but he didn't know if it was in a good way or bad. Louis took turns sharply, and Harry had a hard time keeping up. Louis' words from that morning scolded yet, and though Louis' apology seemed sincere, he didn't know if he could accept it. Maybe he needed a bit of time.
Louis had begun to stride around the room, movements hurried, as his hands shielded his body slightly.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked.
"Leaving. This was a bad idea."
Harry didn't like that word, leaving. Recently he didn't like it when Louis left him, and it was extremely difficult to turn off the feeling of yearning that seemed to come alive each time Louis was starting to disappear from his proximity. Harry carefully stood, his body making the decisions for him. Louis was glancing into the wardrobe for some reason, and Harry stopped behind him. There was some glitter on his shoulder, sparkling dimly. Harry's hand brushed against Louis' waist.
"Louis..." he whispered. "Why are you leaving?" Louis turned around, but he looked unhappy. He shrugged. "Didn't you get me a birthday present?" Harry tried.
He snorted. "Greedy."
"Hey, you got me one, yeah?" Harry didn't know if he was asking to change the subject for his own self-preservation, or if it was because the change of subject made Louis' face look less disheartened. It might have been mostly the second thing.
"Kind of," he revealed, arms crossed over his chest.
Harry's brows rose, and he bumped Louis' hip with his own. "Well?"
"You look like a frog like that."
Jesus.
"Now you're rude again." At least Louis was starting to resemble himself again.
"Sorry," he sighed. It was the second apology of the evening. Harry didn't know what was going on tonight.
"Apology accepted."
Louis waved his hand around, voice only a mumble as he looked down on the floor. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen him so defeated if it wasn't about football. "I was gonna', you know, offer you three wishes and grant them."
"Really?"
"Yes, and don't look at me like that. The mood has been sufficiently ruined."
Harry was definitely intrigued by the wishes, and what they could potentially do with them. However, it wasn't like they could have sex tonight anyway. Harry's sister was in the house, and his parents were probably home any second. At that, a thought occurred.
"Wait, how did you even get into my house?"
"Not important, Harold. Anyways, I should probably —"
The door swung open. As if on cue, directly instructed by Harry's previous thoughts, Harry's mother was striding into the room.
"Darling, we're going to start setting up for — Oh! Oh, wow!"
Harry felt as Louis sprung in behind him, his face pressing hotly against Harry's t-shirt. Harry's heart was beating heavily, his hands clutching at Louis' body, holding him firmly behind himself. Louis' fingers dug into Harry's biceps.
"Wow, darling. Who did this? It's amazing."
Harry watched, constipated, as his mother walk into the room, her eyes wide and absorbed by the golden décor just like Harry's were upon first seeing it. His mum was dressed up, her face painted with make-up. She watched around for a second, and then abruptly stopped as her eyes set on Harry. In her face, there was yet again horror.
Harry cleared his throat, feeling nothing but discomfort and dread as he met her eyes. He hadn't meant for this.
"Oh, God," she whispered. "I didn't realise. I'm sorry."
Harry's breathing shook. Louis' hands were painful on his arms where he hid behind him. "Mum, could you give us a moment," he squeezed out.
Her voice was hurried, and strained. "Certainly, dear. I'll let your, err, friend — boyfriend, I mean, him get dressed. I'll see you two downstairs, or, I — I'll make sure to set an extra plate." She turned around and hurried out of the room, hand shielding her eyes from them. She was gone quickly, but neither Harry nor Louis seemed capable of movement.
"Oh, my God," whispered Louis against Harry's back. Harry felt the same. His mother had just seen Louis, like that. Kissing was one thing, but Louis was pretty much naked. "Did you know they were going to be home?"
"I forgot." It hadn't been easy to think of all the practical circumstances when Louis had been dancing and rubbing himself against him.
"Shit, I need to leave," said Louis. He didn't move, though, and Harry was personally lost in the words of his own mother.
She had said "boyfriend" and that she would set an extra plate for Louis. At Harry's birthday dinner. She wasn't trying to kick Louis out, rather had invited him to stay, despite what had just happened. That had to be progress, right? Maybe now, she would say something about it. Perhaps now she would be able to look him in the eyes and accept that he was gay, and that would be it. Perhaps his mother could go back to treating him normally again.
Moreover, Harry felt a vague regret that Louis being naked in his room had interrupted his mother's first words. He wanted to know what his mother was going to say when she walked in. He had barely spoken to her for a whole week, and the fact that she was approaching him was uplifting.
"What are we going to do?" asked Louis' voice. His hands tugged on Harry's shirt, gaining his attention.
"I think... I think she thinks you're staying for dinner."
"What?"
"Birthday dinner. My relatives are coming."
"I'm not," said Louis, certain. "I'm not, right?" Less certain.
Harry thought about it. "I don't know."
Perhaps if Louis stayed, then his mother would have to react. Then she'd have to talk to him. In front of their family, she couldn't ignore the fact that Harry had shown her what was actually going on with him anymore. She would have to face it, and she would have to talk to him about it. Harry really needed to speak to his mum.
"Harry."
"I think you should get dressed."
"Harry!" Louis sounded desperate.
He finally looked at him, hoping that Louis would do this for him. His hand found Louis' waist as if the touch could compel him to go along with it. "Please," he asked. "Do me a favour."
"Harold!"
Another voice called from the hallway, outside the door. It was Gemma's. "Harry! Why is Mum a nervous wreck? What did you do?"
Just like that, Louis was gone. Harry, startled, watched as Louis Tomlinson flew across the room as if he were a giant dust cloud of golden glitter in flight mode. It took seconds, and then Louis had bolted straight to the bathroom and locked himself inside. Harry couldn't help but laugh, and when Gemma walked into the room he was still snickering. His sister whistled, eyes scanning the room.
"Wow, fancy. What was the music all about?" She'd changed into a blouse and light blue jeans, a pair of long, golden earrings falling down to her shoulders.
"My friend surprised me with music and balloons." Not a total lie.
"Your friend?" She glanced around them again. "Where is he?"
"In the shower."
She raised a brow, and indeed the water falling to the tile floor in there could be heard. "Do your friends often shower at your house?"
Harry's cheeks, for a strange reason, felt a little red. He didn't often blush. Not ever, really. He didn't know why he did now, in front of his sister. He cleared his throat, but he could still feel her interrogating eyes on his face. He ignored them. "Can I borrow your shower?"
She didn't say anything but, "Sure."
They both left the room quietly, and Harry took a thorough shower inside his sister's en suite. He forced his thoughts not to delve into the night to come. He wasn't exactly worried. It was rather an eagerness within, that longed for nothing more than to finally talk to his mum. He hoped Louis' presence would make her open up. As he tiptoed into his room in a towel, he could hear her voice from downstairs. It sounded like some of his grandparents had begun arriving.
Back in his own room, he got dressed and fixed up his hair. Louis was still in the shower for another few minutes, and by the time he peaked his head out of the bathroom, his skin was void of most of the glitter. Harry could only spot a small shimmer across his collarbone. Louis splayed out on Harry's bed after being assured they were alone, sighing as though exhausted.
"What's the plan then?" he asked. Harry wondered if he knew that being that close to naked on top of a bed was very bad for Harry's blood pressure. He could very clearly see the outline of his body underneath the towel.
"Plan?"
Louis nodded. "Do you sneak me out the back? Tie up some sheets so I can climb out the window?"
Harry frowned. He thought they had already agreed. "You're staying."
"What? Harry, why?" The indignance in his eyes indicated he had most certainly not agreed to anything of the sort.
"Because..." He didn't know how to explain it. It's not like Louis would understand anyway. He clearly had never told anyone about his sexuality and received the feedback of an ice-cold wall. "Please do," he begged. "Just, my parents they... Look, if you do nobody has to know. And I'll owe you."
"Owe me how?" he questions, and sounded a little intrigued, thankfully. Although, it was rather typical of him. Always in it for himself.
Harry shrugged. "I don't know, anything." He guessed it was actually true. He might have done anything to get his mother to talk to him again, and if Louis made it happen, then he would give him anything he wanted to repay him the favour. Louis didn't reply, though. He looked fairly inclined to deny the request. Harry said the only thing he could think of. "If you still want, you can grant me my wishes after."
This instantly changed Louis' expression. He rolled his eyes, and shook his head. There was a tiny grin on his face. "You're such a dirty player. Fine."
Harry couldn't help but smile. It seemed Louis still, even after behaving like a world-class idiot, couldn't deny Harry any sexual satisfaction. "Good. Let me get you some clothes."
He needed to wear something. Not like he could walk out in his tiny briefs. While Louis dried himself off, he found him clothes he believed would be a fit.
"Here. I think this will fit."
Louis took the shirt, but eyed it carefully. His gaze touched upon Harry's chest, and he said dubiously, "Did you wear this in junior year?"
Harry smirked. "Sophomore."
"Fucking arse." He lifted the shirt and whacked Harry in the shoulder with it, but it was light and Harry laughed, knowing Louis was going to wear his too-small blue, button down, very much aware of it. Plus, Louis was wearing his clothes. It made him feel warm.
Louis turned back to the mirror, and Harry grabbed him, wrapping his arms around his chest and pulling him closer to his chest. The fact that they were bickering again, in a warm manner this time, felt good. It made little, happy air bubbles flutter in his body. More so, it felt nice to hold him, if just briefly. Furthermore, Louis' neck, shining just a little from left-over gold, looked strangely appetizing.
Despite the fact that the words from that morning still echoed somewhere within, Harry couldn't help but place his mouth on Louis' skin, giving him a couple of kisses, right there, in the crook of his shoulder. Louis had apologised, his mind rationalised. For the first time in his life. Maybe he did regret what he'd said. Maybe it'd been just a moment of heated feelings.
Louis pushed him off, calling him a vampire, but Harry could see there was a little smile on his face. Harry also remembered the dejected look on his face when Harry hadn't accepted the apology. Maybe he did possess the ability to make Louis feel something. Something, at least.
When it was finally time to get downstairs and greet the family, Harry's throat felt dry. His heart thrummed, fast and painful, but he was determined. He couldn't go on much longer not speaking to his mother. He needed her to look at him, recognise the truth, and say something. Anything.
"Harry," said Louis atop the stairs. The voices below seemed to stop him. He looked up at Harry, his blue eyes glistening with some kind of apprehension. Harry had never known Louis to be scared of anything.
"Louis, it's cool," he said, even though he didn't feel entirely collected himself. "Just act like you're my boyfriend and pretend we've been dating for ages.
He looked confused. "But we haven't been dating for ages. Doesn't anybody know that?"
The fact that Louis thought this couldn't possibly work was a clear tell of how different their relationships with their parents were. Harry envied him. If he were close to his parents, he doubted anything like this evening would happen at all. He envied the fact that if Louis wanted, he could probably talk to his mother about his sexuality in the open, and not wonder whether he was pushing her away or not.
It was difficult to say the next words, and in the end, they felt testy in his mouth. "My Mum has seen us kiss once, and this was the second time she's seen anything. I haven't told her shit. Nobody knows anything."
Louis' eyes widened considerably. "Are you saying we're about to give your family heart attacks?"
Harry hadn't actually thought of it like that. Honestly, it was difficult to care much about the rest of his family when his mother behaved as she did. His goal was her, not everyone else. The aftermath of them thinking Louis was his close friend or boyfriend didn't faze him. It was his mother's true and raw feelings he sought.
He shook his head, Louis' questions strangely frustrating. "Just be cool, Louis." He touched his chest briefly and then tugged him down the stairs. He heard Louis mutter, "I hate you so much," but he nonetheless followed him down.
Harry technically had four grandparents, but in truth he considered himself to have five. His mother's parents had been married since their twenties, and Harry had since he was a child admired their headstrong relationship that was so full of love. From the outside, their long-lasting love seemed like a fairy tale, and when he was a child he believed every marriage was like theirs. It was naïve, considering the fact that his father's parents were divorced. They had been separated for over twenty years, and Harry's grandmother had remarried shortly after the fact. Barney, her husband, felt just as much like a grandfather as Harry's dad's actual father. The five of them, as much as they could, refused to miss a birthday, whether it was Harry's or Gemma's, or one of their cousins'.
When Harry landed on the main floor, his dad's father, Gus Styles stood in the living room with Gemma, closest to the stairs. He instantly called out, and Harry, bringing Louis firmly with him knowing the guy was about to bolt out the room at first chance, was enveloped in his familiar arms. His grandfather smelled like earth and flowers. He had been a gardener most of his life and still had green fingers despite his age. As a kid, Harry had spent hours digging and dropping little seeds into pots, returning every few months to check the progress.
"Good to see you, my boy," hummed his grandfather in his ear, and Harry felt a nostalgic yearning in his gut. He wanted to be a child again. Maybe then he could change something, and his future wouldn't turn out like this.
He felt Louis' arm under his fingers, sensing his trepidation as he pulled him around the room, keeping him in his proximity as he quickly made sure to hug each and every one of them. He swallowed as he spotted his mum, standing next to his grandmother, Evie Selley.
"Who's this then?" asked Gus Styles, and Harry took a deep breath. He plastered a smile on his face, but his breathing felt off. His eyes flickered to his mother. She wasn't looking directly at him, or Louis. "Zayn? Harry's best mate, yes?"
"No," Harry said. He braced himself. "This is Louis." He lifted his hand, deliberately placing it at the back of Louis' neck.
At that moment, he felt Louis' barely contained scowl, Gemma's direct look, and his grandparents' perplexed silence, but most of all he felt the pain of watching his mother divert her eyes to the floor, picking at her sleeve.
"Hi." Louis' voice was hoarse, uncomfortable. At the sound of it, Harry turned and met his gaze. His hair was feathery, styled perfectly with Harry's blow-dryer, the shirt just a little big for his chest to fill it out. His eyes were mesmerizingly blue, and looking at them, despite how aflame they were with displeasure, they made Harry feel better.
Harry's mother's voice was loud. "So, dinner! Dinner's ready! Let's eat. Sit at the table."
The silence was cut out by the sound of people moving, and briefly, Harry met Gemma's gaze. It was full of questions, and she lifted a hand, pointing at Louis in disbelief. He nailed her with a look, and she grimaced at him with squinted eyes.
"You're an arsehole," hissed Louis through gritted teeth, leaning into Harry's side when they were slightly off to the side.
Harry gripped the shirt at his waist. He wanted to comfort him, but he also didn't have time to baby him. Louis had agreed, after all. "It's going to be absolutely fine, boo."
Louis' look in response told him he didn't believe him, and simultaneously, that the pet name repulsed him. Harry grabbed his arm and tugged him into the kitchen. Louis didn't seem to dislike the touch, but his eyes flickered about the dining room nervously as they entered through the arched doorway. Everyone was sitting down, and Harry pushed Louis gently into a chair next to Gemma, figuring he might be safest there. At least she wouldn't ask him questions about school.
"Right, dig in!" instructed Harry's mother, and he tried to catch her eyes. She was sitting on the opposite side of the table; she had to look at him at some point. Once more he regretted the fact that Louis being in his room had interrupted her words. She was going to talk to him. It seemed the incident had put her off.
The food smelled nice, but truthfully Harry had no clue of how it tasted. He barely touched it. He loaded his and Louis' plates, meanwhile, he tried to look happy and relaxed. Louis' leg jumped against his under the table, though, and it made his blood tick. It seemed Louis' anxiety was crippling his mood. His stomach churned, but he smiled. Gemma caught his eyes once, pointedly glancing at Louis, asking for explanations. He ignored her. Instead, he answered questions. His grandparents had a million questions. They asked every single query in the book, but clearly veered off the subject of his relationship with Louis.
Harry wondered briefly how much it would take for them to say something. For any of them to react. How far did he have to take it for his mother to look at him?
"What did you get for your birthday then?" asked Jackie, his grandmother on his father's side.
He almost wanted to laugh. What had he not received? There'd been snogging, heartache, shock, and unexpected laughter. Who knew what else he'd get?
His father answered for him. "Well, we've not had time to give Harry his gifts yet. We're doing it at dessert."
Gemma voiced the confusion the words had left the guests in. "Don't you always wake up to cake and Mum singing 'Happy Birthday' like a champ?"
Harry's eyes were only on his mother when she finally spoke. "Well," she said slowly, deliberately. "Harry wasn't home this morning." She paused, then, "He was at Louis'."
She looked more collected than she had all night. The words seemed to make lines on her forehead dissipate. Like they were being processed, finally. Harry's heart sped up yet again. Was it a good sign? Maybe?
"What?" his father's voice, ever confused, cut through his scrutiny. "I thought you were at Zayn's, Harry. Didn't you say —"
"Not now, Des," interrupted his mum.
Harry was genuinely surprised at his father's words. He thought he had understood that what Harry said the night before was a blatant lie. Was his father truly that gullible? He tried not to question it, instead forcing himself to smile and eat. He chose a piece of cucumber, chewing, chewing.
"Well, did Louis celebrate you properly then?"
Inhale, exhale.
Harry placed a hand on Louis' shoulder. He felt warm, like he was sweating underneath the shirt. "Well, he pretended he didn't remember my birthday when we woke up, and then he surprised me after school." He swallowed the piece of cucumber he had chewed for far too long, and let his fingers stroke at Louis' neck, gently.
Louis spoke, voice sounding strangled. "Yes... I redecorated his room a bit. Thought it needed a makeover."
It was a massive downplay. Massive.
Harry's grandmother brightened. "Oh, how lovely." Harry knew she kept interior design magazines on every table in her and Uncle Barney's house. "We must go look after dinner. Right, Evie?"
"Oh, yes. Sounds exciting," she nodded.
For a second, the table was silent, smiles and looks intertwining. Harry wasn't blind, and he had enough emotional intelligence to feel out a room. It was awkward. Gemma was frustrated, but she didn't want to ask in front of the guests. Harry's father was still confused, and his mother was nervously scratching her golden bracelet. Her eyes were on the table.
Her words repeated themselves. Harry had been at Louis' house. She had also seen him just about naked in his room, and she'd seen her son snog him against a car, on the street. Why couldn't she speak to him?
Harry inhaled. "Oh, yes. Definitely. I was so surprised." His mother kept her eyes on her food. "It's so lovely. He put a light-bulb strand, got me balloons, and changed the sheets..."
Silence.
No reaction.
Frustration was beginning to putter somewhere inside. He turned to Louis, who was sending daggers with his eyes.
His voice was as stiff as his body. "Welcome, love," he forced out. He didn't look happy, thus, it was as if from out of nowhere when his finger touched Harry's chin. The little touch surprised him, mostly because Louis hadn't ever touched him so gently before. It was a complete contradiction to the discomfort he displayed. It was light, easy. It was comforting. Despite everything that Louis said or did, he was comforting. Welcome, love.
"How did you meet then, Louis?"
Louis' eyes flicked towards Jackie. "We're co-captains of the school's football team? Harry and I run the football practices together. We're starting the play-offs for the championship in March...?" He trailed off, all of his sentences a question.
"You're co-captain, Harry?" His father was shocked. Harry felt colder. This wasn't a subject he had expected.
"You never told us that, Harry!" Her voice! She spoke. It seemed she could address him after all. Why was it that football was enough to irk them, but something like his sexuality, something that was him, could be ignored?
"Why would I tell you?" he gritted out. You don't care about football." About him. "You want me to go to business school, anyway."
Silence. Always that fucking silence.
"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."