Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/674081.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      One_Direction_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Harry_Styles/Louis_Tomlinson, Nick_Grimshaw/Louis_Tomlinson, Harry
      Styles/OFC
  Character:
      Harry_Styles, Louis_Tomlison, Nick_Grimshaw, Niall_Horan, Liam_Payne, wow
      zayn_isnt_even_in_this_part, sorry_zayn, OFC
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_-_Freeform, Friends_With_Benefits, Friends_to_Lovers, Hand_Jobs,
      Kissing, Growing_Up, three_year_age_gap, part_two_wow
  Series:
      Part 2 of Time_to_Pretend
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-07 Words: 5078
****** It’s a Fool’s Life, This One ******
by thispieceofmind
Summary
     “You.” Louis takes a deep breath. “Fuck, Harry, you’re so confusing.”
     They're in boarding school, and Harry really shouldn't like Louis
     like that, but he does.
Notes
     Part 2/3! They're 13/16 in this bit.
When Louis doesn’t kiss Harry goodbye on the last day of school before the
summer hols, he forces himself not to scream out loud. He just hugs for as long
as he can, says he’ll text, and gets on his train with clenched fists around
the handles of his trunks. The ride home feels slower than it is, and he stares
outside the window and thanks his lucky stars that it’s cloudy. He leans
against the window and thinks of the flowers that are all going to be in full
bloom when he gets home.
He spends a lot of time in the garden, that summer. He weaves crowns and puts
them in his hair. He gives some to Gemma who doesn’t seem to appreciate them as
much anymore. She’s always out with her friends. It’s a lonely summer, Harry
thinks. But his mum takes him to the sea, and he just watches for a while, in
and out and back and forth. Over and over and over. It’s calming though, when
he doesn’t think about what an enigma that ocean is. Harry knows he thinks too
much. So he tries not to, and just looks.
Sometimes he wishes it was like that with Louis, where he could just look and
not get that need to touch and kiss and love.
Louis doesn’t text much. And even though he tells himself not to think too
much, he still thinks about why.
But the lonely summer passes soon enough, and then he’s back on a train and
spending the night in his dorm with Niall and Liam talking about the new music
they found over the summer and the songs that Niall can play for them on his
new guitar that he got as an early birthday present. They go to dinner, but the
dining hall is so crowded and the new first years are so inundated with new
surroundings that Harry doesn’t see Louis once, and he tells himself to look
for him and to not be sad that he’s not in the garden before their meal like he
always is on the first day of school.
And yes, he tells himself that, but Harry doesn’t always do what he’s told.
But the next day, he thinks he gets why, because Louis is holding hands with
Nick Grimshaw on top of the table across the dining hall, and well, Harry feels
like he’s going to throw up, just a little. And it’s not just because Louis is
with somebody, because they were never together – not that it doesn’t hurt
either way – but it’s that it’s Nick Grimshaw, and he’s got the big hair and
the big eyes and he’s tall and funny and old. He’s a year older than Louis, and
he dj’s all the parties and runs the schools’ radio station with his friend
Greg. Harry immediately feels inadequate with his hair that’s starting to make
too many curls and his average height and his thirteen years.
He sinks back into his seat and half-heartedly picks at his eggs while he tries
to pay attention to whatever Niall is telling about his summer. It’s something
about sneaking pints that’s probably bullshit, but Harry just can’t focus. He
wants to bang his head on the table or something, but he’s pretty sure it won’t
work. He sighs heavily and ignores the way Louis lights up as they walk out,
Nick swinging their hands between them. Harry feels like he’s going to throw
up, definitely.
Lonely summer, he thinks, jealous school year.
***
“I saw you watching him at lunch, y’know.”
“Watching who?” Harry’s playing dumb.
“Breakfast, too.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Don’t be a prat, Harry.”
 “I’m not! All I’m saying is that–”
“Harry.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry insists.
“Harry.”

“Niall.”
“You’re being ridiculous. Just talk to me, mate,” Niall says. His voice is
kind, but Harry just sinks back further into pillows and is thankful that they
don’t get any homework their first day back. “Oh, shut up, Harry! You’re
jealous of Grimshaw because he’s shagging Tomlinson, and I know it. So don’t be
daft.”
Harry groans and rolls over on his bed so his eyes are facing the window. He
can feel Niall’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t know what to say. He knows Niall
is right. Of course Niall is right. He mumbles into his pillow, “I kissed him,
y’know.” He rolls over again so he can gauge Niall’s reaction.
“What?” Niall exclaims. “While he was with Grimshaw?”
“No. No!” Harry bursts. “I wouldn’t – no. It was before; last year.”
“Oh. Were you dating?” Niall asks. He looks a little offended as to why he
didn’t know.
Harry clears his throat. “I– um. No. It was more of a friends with benefits
thing.”
“Oh,” Niall says.
“Yeah.”

There’s a pregnant pause.
“Do you love him?”
Harry rolls back over. He hopes Niall doesn’t expect a response.
He skips dinner. This time, he’s the only one.
***
Two weeks pass, and Harry manages not to run into Louis once. And it’s not like
he’s avoiding him or anything, but he doesn’t meet his eye at meals, and if he
sees him in the hall, there might be some occasions where he slips down another
corridor and takes the long way to class. Sometimes he’s late. But he’s good,
really. Niall hasn’t pestered him, and Liam never would, so – it’s good. He
hangs out in the greenhouse and the garden, and he helps his science professor
and plays footy with Niall when he knows practice is over and Louis won’t be
there.
He evades Louis’ presence for two whole weeks and only when it’s raining and
Niall doesn’t want to come outside with him are those two weeks over.
It’s late and the sky is dark, so only the lights that surround the field are
illuminating it. He sees the white specks underneath the lamps. He looks at the
field once before trudging down the hill while looking at his feet. He’s soaked
by the time he gets down there, and only when he glances up is when he sees the
figure sitting in the grass by the closer goal, head in his hands, but then
flopping back on the ground and staring up at the angry sky, churning with
stormy clouds and seemingly endless rain. Harry thinks he can run now while he
can and just retreat back inside, but soon enough, the boy in the grass is
sitting up at the sound of movement.
“Harry?”
Shit. “Erm, hi, Louis.”
Louis stands and makes a feeble attempt to brush off some of the grass that’s
clinging to his shirt, but he’s so wet that it’s really no use. He speaks
carefully. “Hi.”
Harry doesn’t know what to say, so he keeps his mouth shut. The rain deflates
his hair and makes his white shirt stick to his pale skin and skinny arms. His
shorts are heavy and raindrops cling to his eyelashes, and he thinks that maybe
if he started to cry Louis wouldn’t even notice. He kind of wants to cry, a
little.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” Louis asks, and it’s not soft like he would be
normally. Not sweet. Not gentle. Maybe angry, confused.
“I haven’t.”
“You have,” Louis presses.
“We don’t really see each other around, Louis. You’re sixteen. I’m not. It
happens.” He’s lying. He’s lying so badly, but maybe the rain will mask his
failed coverups and pure, thumping jealousy.
“Why haven’t you been making an effort like you always have?”
Harry scowls and folds his wet arms across his chest. “Why haven’t you?”
“I’ve been busy– y’know. With Nick, and, and harder classes.”

“Right, okay, so you’re allowed to use busy as an excuse, but you’ve not made
any more of an attempt than I have! And have you thought, maybe I don’t want to
see you, Louis. You walk around with Grimshaw, and– and, you didn’t even tell
me. You told me you would text Louis. You never texted.” Harry’s control snaps.
He’s so angry. Because over the summer, it was like he never existed, and
now– Harry’s doing just the same. He thinks he has a right to be mad. He’s not
a toy.

“Harry, I–”
“Whatever.” Harry makes to walk away, further onto the field so he can run and
slip and kick the fucking ball even though he’s rubbish. He remembers when he
and Louis would verse each other. Now they’re running away.
“Don’t be a child about this,” Louis mutters before Harry can leave.
Harry’s scowl manages to grow deeper, and he’s wavering now. He feels the heat
in the corners of his eyes and the tightness in his throat. “I’m not a child,”
he bites out. “I’m thirteen.”
“Then stop acting like one, Harry! You’re being immature just because I got a
boyfriend. Have things got to change?”
 Harry’s crying now. “Obviously they
have, because before this you would have never called me a child. You would’ve
never been this mean.”
“Mean?” Louis calls out, and Harry slumps to the ground, sitting against the
goal post, shoulders shaking. Louis doesn’t do anything. Harry thinks that this
isn’t real. How could this be real? If it was real, Louis would do something.
“I’m not being mean, Harry,” he spits. “This is fucking reality, and just
because I’ve got a boyfriend does not mean you have to avoid me.”
“Well, after this–” Harry hiccups loudly with a choked sob “–you’ve given me
many more reasons to avoid you.”
“Oh, grow up!”
Harry looks up then, eyes teary and red, cheeks stained from the cold of the
rain. He thinks that just then is when Louis realizes he’s crying. He’s never
said this before, to Louis. Not to anyone. With meaning, anyway. “Well, fuck
you, Louis. Fuck you.”
***
After that, Harry tells himself that he needs to man up. He needs to man up big
time, and now that their avoidance is even more mutual, days mainly consist of
Harry telling himself not to sulk and to not look at Nick and Louis. It works
out probably sixty percent of the time. He still winces a little when he
remembers how dumb he was the rest of that day in the rain, because at first,
he was expecting an apology from Louis, but soon realized that he had no idea
that he broke Harry’s heart. He was too self-righteous to apologize, anyway. So
Harry had slipped a note under his door that said Sorry .x on it, but he never
got a response. He thinks that made it worse.
He ignores their constantly clasped hands and tries to get Niall to teach him
to play a Coldplay song on guitar so he has something to focus on. It works for
about a week, and then he runs into Louis in the library. He’s skipping dinner,
and he knows that he won’t have anything to snack on after, like that time last
year, but he can’t be bothered. He’d rather curl up and go to sleep. But he
gathers his tea and his books and sets out for that couch because it’s
comfortable, but then Louis is already there – luckily alone – with the rim of
his cup against his mouth, but blue eyes wide and staring right at him as he
walks to the table.
“Harry,” he says, and it’s more out of surprise than anything.
Harry panics a little, and goes to nudge his books further up in his arms with
his knee, but they slip from his grip and fall all over the floor. He mutters a
curse under his breath, attempts to say sorry, and is thanking whoever it is
that made him not drop his tea that was safely held by three curled fingers. He
places the cup on the table and makes to gather his things on the ground. He’s
surprised to see Louis on his knees across from him, straightening some papers
that went awry. He holds them out for Harry to grab, but when Harry glances up,
he just stares for a moment, and the light’s reflecting off of his eyes that
are wandering, and just for a second, Harry wonders where they want to go.
Then the papers are being dropped all over again, and there’s a hand on Harry’s
cheek and lips on his, and it takes a few beats for Harry to realize what’s
happening, but then he’s kissing back, and moving his lips against Louis’ and
his head is spinning, because this shouldn’t be happening but it’s happening
and it’s really all he wants. It doesn’t last longer than thirty seconds,
because then Louis is pulling back, hand feather light against Harry’s smooth
cheek thats flushed with the warmth of the room and the warmth of the tea and
the warmth of Louis.
But like a switch, Louis’ eyes stop wandering and they snap out of it, suddenly
scared and guilty. “Shit, shit, shit, I shouldn’t have done that. Shit.”
Harry panics again and gathers his things, setting them on the table and
placing a gentle, calming hand on Louis’ bicep. He’s still swearing under his
breath. “Hey– Lou, I won’t–”
Louis kisses him again, leaving Harry there speechless and a little more than
stunned.
“Fuck, I–”
“Louis,” Harry says. “I won’t tell anyone; it’s all right.”
“Look, I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t know what made me. I have to
go, yeah? I’ll see you around.” He pauses as he scoops up his books and leaves
his tea on the table. “Maybe, I guess.”
Harry doesn’t get much studying done.
***
Harry’s very conflicted the following day, but then he sees Nick and Louis in
one of the empty classrooms Louis used to take him, and well, Harry’s feeling a
little lonely. He’s not sure what to do, really, but he thinks he needs a new
friend. Not that Niall and Liam aren’t lovely, but he needs someone who he can
make a first impression on. But Harry remembers their sister school, the one
not too far from here, and how they’re supposed to be coming to the greenhouse
for a lesson because their school doesn’t have one. Maybe he’ll make a new
friend.
If it’s one thing that Harry has learned about girls, though, is that they’re
cruel. Gemma has told him about the backstabbing and the hatred and the
terrible words and the grudges that were never forgotten. He thinks that maybe
that’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like girls too much. They’re difficult.
And yes, while boys can be difficult too, their friendships involve more of the
“forgive and forget” motto. He hopes that there’s a girl who likes flowers as
much as he does.
It turns out there’s a girl whose hair reaches the bottom of her back who calls
Harry cute and likes irises because of their color. Harry thinks she’s nice
enough, and while he’s not attracted to her, she’s pretty and kind, but her
eyes aren’t blue and she isn’t charmingly cynical. But he kisses her on the
cheek at the end of the day and takes her number and tells her about Saturdays
for guests. She smiles and blushes, and it only makes Harry a little
uncomfortable.
So she starts coming on Saturdays, and at first some other girls would go, too,
and Niall and Liam hang out with them and some groups of kids, but then Harry
shows her different places around the school and just genuinely enjoys talking
to her, so they’re alone. And it’s simple. Harry never wants her, though, never
wants to date her or kiss her or touch her, but he sees Nick and Louis sitting
on one of the benches outside in their heavy coats as the colder months
approach, and they look happy, and Harry wants that. He wants to be happy. Or
at least show Louis that he is, whether or not it’s the truth.
He knows what he’s doing is stupid, but he kisses her once by the fields and
asks her to be his girlfriend, and she says yes. So they hold hands on
Saturdays and it always makes Harry feel clammy. As much as he likes her, it’s
not like that, so it’s mostly him trying to not be awkward. So they date, and
he thinks Louis is confused, or wants to think Louis is confused. But– he’s
trying to push past whatever this is. He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good
job.
The thing with Harry is that he never takes her back to the garden. It fills
him with nostalgia and wishful thinking, so she doesn’t get a crown, and Harry
likes it that way. He knows he shouldn’t.
***
Harry’s pressed up against the wall, and there’s hot breath cascading against
his neck. He squirms as kisses are littered on his skin, making his temperature
rise, going straight to his cheeks. He looks flushed and bright.
“We’re both cheating right now.”
“I know.”
Another kiss, light, just a brush of the lips, is left against his mouth.
“You don’t like her.”
“I know.”
“You like boys, Harry.”
Harry smirks and trails a hand up Louis’ thigh so it’s hovering right over his
cock trapped in his trousers. He kisses up Louis’ neck and whispers, “I know.”
It’s a little fuzzy to Harry, how he got here. But he’s against Louis’ room’s
door, hair messy and thoughts messier. He was told by his teacher to stop by
every room in the boys’ building and slip them their flyer about the flowers
going on sale for the winter ball. So when he knocked on Louis’ door and pushed
the paper through the gap, he was expecting to just walk away and move on, but
the door opened and he was yanked inside, immediately pressed against the door,
and thoroughly kissed.
Louis’ hands rub up his torso. “Fuck, I can’t stay away from you.” Harry’s
heart swells a little, but he palms Louis’ cock and kisses his neck because he
knows that’s what feels good. Louis swats his hand away. “None of that. Just
let me kiss you, and then, then you have to go– okay?” Harry steps back for a
moment. “No more ignoring me, yeah? Be my friend again, Haz.”

Harry reaches up for another kiss and holds Louis’ close to him because he
knows he’s gonna have to let go soon. “Okay.”
***
Harry likes that whole “forgive and forget” motto, because it’s essentially as
easy as that. Of course, it’s not completely forgotten, but it’s forgiven, for
now. Harry wouldn’t say things go back to normal, because they don’t. But there
will be hellos in the hallway and the occasional conversation, but Harry’s
still dating a girl and Louis is still with Nick, so that’s that. He tells
himself to hold out till Winter Ball because Louis will go with Nick, and Harry
really doesn’t want to go alone. He’s guiltier than ever, and he wonders if
Louis is, too. Most of what Harry can register is
lovelovewantneedlovejealousyguilt. But, nothing changes.
It’s two weeks until the dance when Harry gets a message on the whiteboard that
Niall hung at the beginning of the semester. Haz, come study with me @ 4. My
room, Lou. He doesn’t even try to fight his grin, so he turns right around with
his messenger back on his shoulder and walks to Louis’ dorm. He stops in the
corridor when he hears Louis’ voice.
“Nick, stop.” He’s giggling.
“But your arse is so nice,” Nick says.
“Nick. You’ve got to go. I told Harry to come by so we can study.”
“Oh,” Nick mutters. Harry doesn’t like the tone of his voice very much. “Your
little third year friend?”
“He’s not little,” Louis defends, his voice still playful. “But yeah, we’re
just gonna study a bit. Chat.”
“He’s got the cutest crush on you, really. Or last year, he did. Thought you
dumped him this year.” Nick chuckles.
“I couldn’t dump him. He’s a good lad.”
“Yeah, yeah. All right then, love. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Later, babe.”
Harry hears the smack of his lips, and he slips into another hallway, only
coming out when he knows the coast is clear and he hears the click of the door
and no more footsteps. He takes a deep breath, straightens the strap on his
shoulder, and goes to knock on Louis’ door.
When it opens, Harry gets no greeting. “So, how much of that conversation did
you hear?”
“What?” Harry says. He didn’t think he was being obvious.
“You’re never late, Harry. It’s 4:15. How much did you hear?”
“Since he started talking about your arse.”
“Right,” Louis says, but he pulls Harry in by the hand, and they flop on the
bed wordlessly, crossing their legs and sorting out their books. Harry starts
with his homework because he hasn’t really got any tests soon. His hair falls
over his eyes as he focuses on some maths problem. It bothers him, but he
doesn’t do anything about it he knows he’ll lose his place. It’s not until a
gentle hand is tucking his curl behind his ear does he need to look up, because
well – fuck maths.
“I’m so confused, Harry,” Louis says, and for once in his life, Harry thinks
Louis’ eyes look scared.
“Confused about what?” Harry asks, and he’s pretty sure he knows, but it could
be presumptuous so he thinks it’s safer to ask.
“You.” Louis takes a deep breath. “Fuck, Harry, you’re so confusing.” Harry
doesn’t think there’s a single confusing thing about him, he’s pretty simple,
really. But he’s sure Louis has a reason so he leaves the silence as room for
him to explain, unless he decides to. “And, Nick–” Louis cuts himself off. He
studies Harry for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Can I teach you
something new? Is that okay?”

Harry thinks his eyes are panicked. He nods.
“I know you have a girlfriend, but, I – I need you, and I feel so bad, and this
is so wrong, but, you, you’re–”
Harry kisses him, and that keeps him quiet. “I don’t like her. She’s a good
friend, but–” He pauses. “I’m still dating her because I don’t want to go to
Winter Ball alone.”
“Why don’t you find someone else?”
Harry smiles sadly. “She’s looking forward to it; I don’t want to upset her.
Plus, there’s not too many gay thirteen year olds anyway.”
Louis squeezes his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Harry.”
They share a smile, and Harry says, “You can teach me something, though, if you
want.”
Louis moves closer. “Okay. But this is purely for educational purposes, so you
know.” His eyes don’t look so scared anymore.
“Educational,” Harry repeats.
“Yes, Harold, educational. So you can impress that boy some day.”
“Yeah, all right.” And his heart has sunk a bit, but Louis is kissing up his
neck and his hand is creeping up his thigh, and Harry’s not doing any maths, so
life isn’t so bad, really.
Harry wants to touch Louis everywhere. He’s all golden skin and smooth
everything, and it’s like his hands wander on their own. Louis gets him off
first, lets his hand fall on Harry’s cock, and just show. It’s slow movements
and soft mewls and cries spilling from Harry’s mouth, until he bites down on
Louis’ lip and comes over his hand. “You think you’ve got it?” Louis murmurs
low in his ear. He wipes his hand with a tissue and trails a clean finger down
Harry’s bare chest, soft and undefined.
“Y-yeah,” Harry stutters out. “Think so.”
“All right then, have a go.”
“Yeah,” Harry repeats. “Kiss me first, please.”
Louis smiles with what Harry thinks is fondness, but this kiss isn’t fond, it’s
rushed and hasty like Louis doesn’t want to get too close. He pulls back and
asks if it’s better, and Harry nods even though his heart is still beating too
fast in his chest. He kisses Louis’ neck as he presses a hesitant thumb into
his hipbone. He’s slow and careful as he peels off Louis’ briefs, and he
doesn’t really mean to stare, but the only hard cock he’s seen is his own, and
Louis is reaching the later end of his puberty, and Harry’s just really, really
overwhelmed.
“It’s okay, Haz. You’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“Take your time.”
“I wanna make you feel good, Lou,” Harry breathes. “I’m learning, but I’ve got
to be able to make someone feel good, yeah? It’d be pointless if I don’t get
you off.” Harry doesn’t let Louis say anything else, because he’s kissing him
again because he can, and that’s not a common occurrence. He grasps Louis’ cock
because he’s not sure what else to do. “Okay?” he asks.
“Good, yeah. Move, Harry.”
Harry pumps his fist a couple of times, and the catch in Louis’ breath and how
his hips buck up make his Harry shiver. It’s a little dry, but he thumbs over
the head and uses the precome to make it slicker. And Harry keeps moving his
hand, but he’s still a little nervous and hesitant. His eyes flick from Louis’
cock to his blue gaze. “Can I kiss you again? Please, Lou, I’m–”
“S’all right,” Louis says, and he’s still calm, like always, but his voice is a
little more raspy. “Just, let me talk you through it, yeah?”
“Okay, yeah,” Harry agrees, twisting his wrist and watching Louis bite his
lips. He wonders if he hadn’t what noise would’ve spilled from them.
“You’re good, Harry. Just like that. I don’t even have to tell you anything.
You’re perfect,” Louis gasps, pushing up into Harry’s touch.
“How ‘bout you talk to me, instead. Keep you distracted. What do you think
about – when you do this to yourself?”
“I – fuck,” Harry says, and fuck him, he can’t lie for his life. “You,” he
whispers in Louis’ ear.
Louis comes all over his fist.
***
Harry’s dressed in a crisp, light blue shirt, black trousers, and a black bow
tie. He looks in the mirror and thinks he looks nice enough, puts a bit of gel
in his hair, and gives a thumbs up to Niall and Liam, both looking sharp. They
walk down stairs together, laughing at nothing and everything, and while
Harry’s as gay as the Fourth of July, he still gasps when he reaches the main
building because she’s standing there with a dress that reaches her knees that
matches his shirt. Her hair is pulled half up and half down, and Harry thinks
she’s beautiful. He gets a twist in his stomach knowing that he’s going to
break up with her soon. He thinks that guilt is his least favorite thing.
Niall and Liam have dates of their own, and they link hands or arms with the
girls they’re with and follow the sea of people to the dance. The ball room is
elegantly decorated with white and blue, and Harry’s glad that third years are
finally allowed to go to the dance. It’s just a rule the schools have; first
and second years are deemed too young. He finds Louis in the crowd straight
away, dark in a navy button down and white jeans, suspenders running up his
shoulders. Nick is behind him, though, kissing his neck until Louis shoves him
off playfully.
Harry’s stomach twists, because of guilt, that culprit again. After that first
time they got each other off, Louis was hasty to get Harry out, but it was a
week later when he cave again, showing him how to rub their cocks together and
come over both of their fists. They haven’t really spoken since. So much for
being friends again, really. Harry thinks that if people could see his insides,
he would be green because all he is jealousy and guilty. He squirms a little,
but sits down at his assigned table and watches people come in, all beautiful
in suits and dresses. He plays with her fingers absently, and well, it’s
peaceful enough, music gentle for entrance. He knows he’s thinking too much.
He dances and eats and watches Louis more than he should. He spins her around
the best he can because his mum used to put on classic records and teach him to
dance. She kisses his cheek at one point, and tells him that she’s going to
dance with some friends, so all Harry can do is blink and say okay. Then he’s
alone on the dance floor, and he can vaguely make out Louis dancing with Nick a
little too closely, but he peels his eyes away while he can and sits, picking
at some chips and sighing heavily.
She doesn’t really come back to find him, and Harry mopes. No girlfriend, no
friends who are busy with more girls, and no Louis. Halfway through, Nick and
Greg switch places, so Louis is boyfriend free, and Harry guesses that he
decides to come over to him. He’s not sure why.
“Having fun?” he asks, sitting down in the seat next to Harry.
“Not exactly.”
“Pity,” Louis says, and Harry hates that attitude he has on. Like nothing
matters. Like Harry doesn’t matter.
“Suppose so,” Harry mutters, and he runs a hand through his hair and refuses to
meet Louis’ eyes.
“Girlfriend ditch you?”
Harry thinks he could say something passive aggressive, but he bites out,
“Y’know, yeah, she fucking did. And I wouldn’t even be dating her if it weren’t
for you, so shut up, Louis. I don’t really want to make moony eyes at you right
now, because all you seem to do is break my heart.”
“Break your heart?” Louis asks, and Harry can’t tell if he’s playing dumb or
being serious, so Harry just growls and shoves his chair back, standing and
looking down on him for once in his life.
“Are you honestly that thick?” He shakes his head. “Whatever, I can’t – I can’t
do any of this right now, and I don’t want to cry a goddamn school dance.”
He storms off without even daring to look at Louis, finds his girlfriend and
tells her he feels a bit sick. She cups his cheek and tells him that he does
look a little peaky.
Yeah, Harry definitely feels a bit sick.
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