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We're Like Bumper Cars

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we’re like bumper cars

Louis’ heart is banging against his ribs, the noise thumping in his eardrums as he takes his mark. He looks left, there’s Liam, and right, there’s an asshole. Louis breathes out carefully, he needs to keep his inhales and exhales in a rhythm. There’s a deadly course in front of him, a 3 kilometre soft sand track to complete. It’s a piece of cake for him, but right now, anxiety sitting in his stomach and he’s about to wrench up a puddle of nerves. 

“Looking a little pale, Tommo,” says the ass himself, and how dare he make Louis lose focus. Louis doesn’t dare blink to him. He doesn't deserve Louis’ absolute attention. “Here, maybe a little water will help you out.”

There’s a water bottle being nudged at his arm. Louis seethes through his clenched jaw and huffs out exasperatedly. 

“Keep your spit water to yourself,” Louis barks at the, probably, sneering boy. “Who knows, maybe you spiked that shit with knock out pills.”

“Please,” Harry laughs, adjusting his position at the start line. “I’m not that soft core.”

Harry’s not winning this race. He doesn’t deserve it, the twat like him. It’ll be shameful on Louis’ behalf. He’s held the title for 6 years, and there’s no chance he’s going to lose the champion of the school’s cross country in his final year. That’ll ruin him. It’ll feed Harry’s stupidly egotistical ass. 

He manages to recollect himself before the countdown began. A short three, two, one and the alarm rings into Louis’ ear. The patter of sneakers gallop across the short distance of the thick turf before the twelve competitors reach the sand, where everything feels like a workout - but not to Louis. He’s been training for this all year. He’s not going to lose today. 

They’re escalating up on the sandy hill, the toughest part of the track. To his right Harry is panting, a sweat stained forehead with his hair bouncing according to his steps. He’s trying to pass Louis, but that’s not going to happen. Not this time. Louis speeds his pace up, feet stepping into the dips of the imprinted sand - a massive advantage point in his favour. He loses Harry easily behind him. The competition isn’t over yet, Harry’s a tactical player. Who knows what he has in stall to try and beat him this year. All he knows is that Harry has no chance. Louis has trained hard to win, to get into the interschool champions. He’s not going to let the pissbag win.

Left foot is light when it hits the ground, same as the right. He’s using the balls of his feet to dance across the track. He can’t hear panting, or the smacking of curls against a sweaty head, so he’s okay to keep his pace at a more relaxed state. He completes a lap, receiving a high five from one of his teachers. Two more laps to go.

His breath is starting to lag and become rugged. He doesn’t dare to drink from the water bottle in his hand. He can’t fall victim to a stitch. He wheezes out and looks to the sky for a moment, cloud cover grey and dull. Thank goodness there’s little sun. A few small breathers later, he begins jogging with a little emphasis in his steps. He passes some of the fall behinds and people who care less about cross country like Louis does with Math. Second lap is completed in under three minutes.

But midway during his final lap, soft grunts are heard behind him and Louis doesn’t panic - it’ll ruin his perfect pace. Harry’s behind him, lethargic and probably unable to comprehend the defeat he’s going to face in less than a minute. Louis purposely strides daintily enough to kick dirt behind onto Harry’s joggers. There’s a small ‘fuck off’ from Harry, which only brings Louis’ smile wide enough to block Harry from passing him for the rest of the competition. 

Louis sprints to the finish line, people in their house bays screaming for their favourite school captain winning the cross country for 2015. Louis tirelessly smiles to the teacher writing his name down for first place. Dawdling behind him is Harry a few seconds later, a frown on his face and a irritated slip of ‘Harry Styles’ when he’s asked for his name for second place. With his head high, Louis trots back to his welcomed community of Oak Hill’s Secondary and takes high fives and knuckle punches as they come.

The announcements are even better. Louis is called for first place for the cohort of senior students and he can’t help but to let his eyes fall on Harry, sitting behind all of the secondary students with his eyebrows flat with shame. Louis holds his ribbon tight and pins it to himself after shaking the headmaster’s hand. Harry’s called for second. He feigns a smile while he stands and walks to receive his ribbon. He stands as far away as possible from Louis, the rivalry between them like two negative poles repelling naturally. Or maybe it’s Louis’ successful aura that Harry’s not allowed in.

The competition ends and the day feels complete. Not only did he win, but he beat Harry, again. And the look on the bastard’s defeated face Louis wants to paint on the back of his eyelids.

: :

“My legs are killing me,” Niall whines, legs stretching out on his bed. Louis rolls his eyes in the mirror, picking at the little spot ruining his face. “Oh fuck you, really. Just because you don’t have to deal with a shit’s worth of muscle aches.”

“It’s called getting fit, and I do have pain in my calves. I just don’t moan about it.”

Niall scoffs. “Yeah, but you spend hours picking at your face, body, or whatever doesn’t seem right.” And it’s very much true, but it’s not that much of a deal. Niall shouldn’t be so concerned over Louis’ perfectionist personality. “Lou, you look fine, mate. C’mon, it’ll be dark anyway, and people will be drunk.”

“Yeah but some people I’ll be with won’t be drunk,” Louis says bluntly, turning away from the mirror with disgust of his own face. “The night I have to be the deso driver, and I look like trash. What if some guy is there, what if Zayn’s there? For fuck’s sake, Niall.”

“C’mon, Zayn would do you even if ya fell into cow dung on the way there,” Niall laughs. Louis frowns unhappily, looking down at his black button up and straightening out a few creases. “Stop it. You look fine, Christ. Who are you even tryin’ to impress?”

“Myself,” says Louis, sadly. He turns back to the mirror, somewhat happy. He’s sure Niall can’t take another minute of him gussying himself up. He finally announces he’s ready to leave, already twenty minutes late to a party he’s not even excited for. Well, he’s not getting drunk tonight, which is disappointing and particularly unfair. He did win the school cross country just yesterday.

Louis drives them to Liam’s, where he picks his boy up before both travelling to the bottle shop, where he buys cartons of beer and a bottle of cheap vodka for the two kids in the backseat. Driving to the party, pre-drinks are taken and vodka is spilled. Great. Cheap vodka seeping into his leather seats. His mother’s going to absolutely treasure him for this.

He’s glad to get rid of them when they all arrive at Josh’s. He passes the crowd in the backyard, finding himself in the kitchen where he pours himself coke in a red cup. He finds a whole bunch of kids on some seats in what Louis supposes is the deso driver hang out. Looks fun. 

He joins the group and they’re friendly. Some are from Louis’ English class, others from his Gym he heads to down the school’s street. It’s easy to engage conversation, he’s always light with people which is why he’s always so likeable. Well, likeable to most people.

He knows Harry’s here tonight, which almost, just almost, made Louis turn away from coming here. It’s not like he has a problem with Harry’s presence or anything, like… yeah, Harry’s hot. Whatever. Just Louis has hated him since forever, or since he was 12 when Harry started hating him for beating him at the only thing he’s good at; cross country. It’s not Louis’ fault for being good at something he’s great at. But the rivalry between them is so great. Louis loves waking up in the morning knowing that Harry’s going to spit something at him, then he’ll go to bed happy knowing that he’s said something so fucking good that made him dumbfounded. Happens everyday. 

But Harry’s probably pissed out of his mind right now, maybe vulnerable but dangerous. Louis knows never to mess with drunk people.

He’s with his mates after a while, Niall’s taking body shots from Liam’s belly which isn’t too abnormal, even if he wasn’t drunk. Louis laughs and takes the few photos which are always great reminders in the morning. Weed comes out of no where, so he’s back with his deso friends after a drunken half hour and, oh.

So he thinks he can take Louis’ seat then. “You’re in my seat,” Louis snarls at him, arms crossed with his nose high. Harry, as well the crew who’s focusing on the video playing on his phone look up to him. Louis’ mouth twitches in annoyance. 

“Didn’t see your name on it, your Majesty,” Harry barks back, standing from the seat regardless. Louis doesn’t sit but instead pokes a finger into his stiff chest. “Fuck up, why don’t you go drink some more? Might loosen your tight ass.”

“I’m a considerate bastard and decided not to drink,” Louis hisses. “How about you take tequila shots from your boyfriend over there,” Louis points to Zayn, a known friend of Harry’s, “surely you’re not that much of a loser to fail at that.”

“Ha,” Harry says humourlessly. “I’m a designated driver, considerate enough not to lose my licence.”

“Hm, too bad I’m feeling the same, otherwise there wouldn’t be any more time wasted for me to run you over with my Hyundai.”

“Hyundai?” Harry laughs with disbelief. “Holy shit, are you like 30?”

“That’d be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? A 30 year old beating you in cross country?” Louis smirks at Harry’s defeated eye roll. Always gets him. “Maybe you could drink your sorrows away-- oh wait.”

“Stop being a twat, I came here for a good night, regardless of whether I’m pissed or not.”

“You seem pretty pissed to me, loser,” Louis taunts. Harry’s glower deepens. Louis notices they’re in a far corner now, hidden in a dark area where people are paying little attention to them. “Aw, look at pretty boy not being so pretty. Too sucked in his own unfortunate defeat.”

“Admittedly calling me pretty is not helping your case, Tommo,” teases Harry. Louis rolls his eyes and looks away from Harry’s charming face. He’s quite dashing, the lad, in a rock baseball top and tight skinnies. It’s rare to see him out of school uniform, and that’s probably not a good thing for Louis. “You look good tonight, Louis.”

What. “Yeah, alright.”

Harry smirks and leans against the wall, arms folded with his eyes dead straight to Louis’. “Too afraid to admit to yourself that I complimented you, or are you just that conceited?”

“I’m allowed to say I look good without being conceited,” Louis says bitterly. “And I don't need anyone else to tell me. I know it myself that I look terrible tonight. Don't really want anyone noticing me.”

“Well, that’s a first coming from you,” Harry laughs. Louis narrows his eyes at the bastard, but doesn’t say a word. He kind of wants to get out of here, go home. Niall and Liam can probably crash with Harry. Harry’s good friends with Niall anyway. “I’m just saying you look good.”

“Can you stop it?” Louis hisses. “You’re making the effort to be likeable, and to be frank you’re actually making me hate you a whole lot more than I usually do.”

Harry pouts sardonically. “Too bad you hate me. You’re missing out on all this.” Yeah, Louis is, unfortunately. “Gonna be a good final year, Lou. Can’t wait for interschool cross country, hm? You and me? How fun’s that?”

Louis had completely forgotten about the interschool competition. The biggest cross country event for schools in the entire midwest. Shit. It’s only him and Harry for the senior level this year. Shit, him and Harry. Alone.For five days. Fuck.

“The enthusiasm is alive on your face,” Harry chuckles.

“Ecstatic to take the champion to head to Nationals,” Louis grins, becoming confident once again. “Too bad you’re going to lose again, hm? Loved to see you down south.”

“Oh, you would, wouldn’t you?” Harry winks, and… well, shit, Louis has lost the plot. 

“Don’t bring my sexuality into this.”

“Oh, but I’m not, poor Louis,” Harry laughs wickedly. For fuck’s sake. “Just a few harmless innuendos. Or are you just too afraid to admit that I’m hot explicitly? It’s okay, I take compliments from assholes quite well.”

Louis flares his nose in aggravation. “How about you take a beer bottle and shove it up your loser ass?”

“Pretty sure it doesn’t belong there,” the sinister boy fucking giggles. Louis is sick of him, he wants to shut his pretty little mouth but he isn’t drunk enough to kiss him, or whatever. So he sticks with it, annoyingly, and tuts to keep himself occupied. 

Harry moves away at some point, only to return with two cups in his hand. He leans against the same wall as Louis and pushes a cup forward into his view. Louis takes it without a second thought, but pauses before sipping.

“How do I know you didn’t spike this shit to make me crash while on the road?”

“Please, don't think so lowly of me,” Harry deadpans, sipping from his cup and watching Louis’ eyes shift from the possibly tarnished drink to his eyes. “Louis, it’s pepsi. I swear to God I’m not always satanic.”

Louis is reluctant to drink the contents. He knows Harry isn’t satanic but he looks like the fucking devil. He takes a quiet sip, leaving the drink in his mouth for a few seconds to try and taste anything odd. It tastes… fine. Tastes like pepsi, feels like pepsi. He swallows.

There’s a soft smirk on Harry’s lips and Louis is close to vomiting out the tainted drink. “You fucking liar--”

“It’s pepsi, Louis, fucking hell,” Harry snaps, taking the drink from Louis and having a sip himself. Louis blinks with concern as Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why would I drink it if I fucked with it, hm?”

Louis narrows his eyes and takes back the drink. “Thanks, whatever,” he mutters.

The rest of the night is banter. Louis had followed Harry all over the place, from getting drinks to seeing if Zayn is alright (he’s puking up pink alcopops but that’s okay). Louis had wondered if Harry was trying to get away from him, but that didn’t seem to be the case when Louis had tried to move away and Harry gripped on his wrist with a tug, asking where he was going.

So Louis had two options, to either stay with those losers who don’t seem to be moving from their loner-cat video couches or to just follow Harry around like the rancid sheep he is. The second option is what he drags himself into, Harry migrating from person to person, clapping them on the back every few seconds and almost looking as if he really didn’t want to be engaged with Louis whatsoever. But whenever Louis would back away just that tiny bit, Harry would always ask where he was going. Unbelievable.

They’re back in a corner at some point, except, this time, they’re on the perimeter fencing watching over kids binging on their piss water. Zayn’s got weed somewhere (expected), and Niall doesn’t look to be moving from the floor next to that funnel that was halfway down his throat a second ago. Louis is looking over Harry’s shoulder, a bit of a challenge he must say. In the distance, he can see the flashing of cyan and red lights, the sirens becoming clear in Louis’ head. 

Police. Shit. “H-Harry,” Louis stammers, prodding at his chest with a jittery finger. “Call them out. They have weed. Cops are here to crash.”

It happens so fast. Harry shrieks out “Coppers!” as the crew tip and fall while they scatter to the front, in the house, or over the fence. Louis is left in the corner, Harry missing as he helped people over the fence (and those arms flexing, okay wow). Harry’s running towards him, immediately putting two hands entwined together down near Louis’ shins and gazing up towards the confused boy.

Harry nods down to his hands, and Louis falls more perplexed. “W-What are you--”

“We need to fuck off, Louis. Hurry the fuck up and step up. I’m flipping you over.” What. 

The lights are still flashing on the picket fence. He can see the cast of shadows now, so Louis doesn’t even question himself when he steps onto Harry’s hands and there’s the push to help him over the spikes. Louis squeaks as he loses his grip on the fencing, plummeting straight to the grassed area with all impact on his elbows. Louis groans and holds himself on the floor to recover, while Harry had passed the fence and is now crouching down to see if the idiot is okay.

“Lou,” he whispers, and it’s a soft Lou, not the teasing cufuffle from before. “Oi, you need to get up. They might check the perimeter. There’s a park up by. We can head there and wait for a bit.”

With the help of Harry, he’s on his two feet with another innocent moan of weakness. Harry’s got his wrist in a tight bound grip and is pulling him along down the cleared grass lands of the city. There’s tall trees up ahead, a playground seen in the very narrow sight between oak and birch, which Louis assumes is the park Harry’s talking about. They’re there in the small time of seven minutes, both easily being able to fast pace themselves without losing all ability to breathe.

He needs to sit though. He’s 100% sure he broke one of his ribs or something. Sitting on the bench and hunched over his thighs he sighs out and feels his breathing coming back into sync. The pain subsides after a few deep breaths. Harry’s in front of him, kicking a stone with little to care for the world, and Louis only stares at how lovely he glows under the moonlight. It’s rare to have such a clear night like this in the city. Maybe Harry’s the beam of light to clear the mist.

“You okay?” he asks, head down low to the turf as Louis glares from his bent position. Louis nods in response, finally standing to match with Harry and strolling around the park in desperation to find something to talk about. There isn’t something from the two of them until two minutes later, when Louis is peeling back bark from a leaning tree and Harry decides to comment.

“Don’t think the tree appreciates you stripping it.”

Louis narrows his eyes at the tree, continuing to pull away bark. “The tree told me it doesn’t care.”

“Well, considering you do biology, Lou,” and his voice is very, very close, surprisingly close, “I would assume you know that trees actually give us the oxygen we both need to breathe while we’re running for interschool.”

Louis can feel Harry’s fucking breath on the back of his neck, chuckling so softly at Louis disobeying him. Louis catches his nails in the smooth, stripped part of the tree, cutting into it and marking a line. It comes out green, and the tree bleeds a clear sap. 

“See that,” Harry says, pointing to the cut, “it’s crying because of you.”

“It’s crying because it saw your fucked up face.”

“Hm, valid answer, Tomlinson.” And he touches Louis’ hip with the light pat of his finger tips. Louis sighs and glares at his feet. “Not the best from you though.”

“I can be worse, but looks like you’re a bit of a softy when it comes to talking about that stupid hamster of yours.”

“Don’t talk about that,” Harry hisses. “Fucking hell, I was fucking 10. He was my favourite pet, my only pet.” Louis begins to laugh into his hand, feeling guilty for his giggles but then again, it’s Harry fucking Styles. “Don’t be a cock.”

He’s shoved into the tree immediately while turning around to send a nasty comment back. Harry’s there, no more than 30 centimetres away from his face, with a shit eating smirk playing across his mouth. Of course Harry’d be grinning at the little weakling in front of him. He’s that sadistic.

“No need to get aggressive Styles. Your hamster wouldn’t have liked that, would he?” Louis challenges, quirking up an eyebrow at Harry who rolls his eyes and changes his stance. His arm is leaning against the tree, hand close to Louis’ hair. Louis gulps at the change. “Tired from all the shit I’m throwing at you? Feeling sad yet? Maybe wanting to pull out of the interschool competition?”

Harry creeps closer, then lowly whispers, “Never.”

Louis is lost for words, mouth still open but nothing escaping; letters choking and crumbling in his throat. He breathes out; it’s jittery. Harry’s not making any move back when the air hits against his skin. He shifts his eyes up to Harry’s eyes, his are focused down to his lips. Louis knows well enough where this is going to go.

Louis puts his hands to Harry’s chest to stop him from guiding himself further. Tempting, it may seem, but also a dangerous mistake. 

“Harry,” he scolds, shaking his head and removing his pink, and lonely, mouth from view. He can’t see Harry, but he’s sure the disappointment is stamped across his forehead. “You… Yeah?”

Harry immediately barks back. “You,” he mimics, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean, what’s that supposed to mean? It’s you, Harry. You. That dickhead who’s hated me since forever, rivals of the century. Who competes against me because you fucking want the damn title of the champion of cross country when we both know the winner is a million times better than you.”

Harry scoffs, offended. “You haven’t won yet.”

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases, smirking wildly. He pokes Louis in the sternum, forcing him back with the bark of the tree digging into his spine. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss. Louis grins against him. Harry’s lips are warm, a bit dry from the drought words that spat from his mouth but it’s enough for Louis to close his eyes against. Harry draws back first, lips clinging together for a minor second as he licks over his bottom lip shyly. His fingers are still looped in Louis’ jeans, and Louis doesn’t mind that one bit. He’s close to Harry, feeling Harry’s chest rise and fall slowly like the drag of his voice. His stupid, stupid voice. That stupid voice that come out of those lips he just kissed. Oh my.

Harry’s in for it again, probably feeling more confident with himself that he can make Louis shut up like this. The dickhead somehow manages to find weaknesses. A soft press of Harry’s mouth grazing so delicately over his lips makes Louis’ gut turn with anticipation. He doesn’t know if he likes this, or whether or not it’s taboo to think about liking this. But Harry doesn’t seem to be relenting. In fact, one of his hands from his belt loops and curled around the back of his neck, fingers dancing at the tuffs of his hair. Oh god, why does Harry always seem to find a weakness, one after the other. Louis’ knees are going to tremble and topple themselves over in a moment. Harry needs to stop.

But he doesn’t, because Louis has a hand on Harry’s hip and he’s caught his thumb at the waist line of his jeans, holding him closer to get everything from him. And how fucking wrong is this? Harry’s his enemy. His competitor. They’re fucking making out underneath some oak tree after ditching a party raided by cops. What the fuck.

“Harry, for fuck’s sa- what are you--” Louis pushes him back, hand still attached to Harry’s waist. Harry pulls back with a glance of concern upon his pretty, pretty face. God damn, his lips are so pink, beautiful. Louis just fucking kissed them.

“You’re so talkative,” Harry states, words blunt. “You need to shut the fuck up.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Just because I’m stating the truth?”

“No, because you say shit about how you're better at running than me, but I'm reassured I can make you lose breath with something else before I do, sweetheart.”

Louis fucking gasps, and it wasn’t intentional. Harry smirks in response, pulling him in closer and giving him a small, chaste kiss. This boy is absolutely unbelievable.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” murmurs Louis, and not like Harry has any sort of care in the world right now for what they’re doing. Louis should really start doing that. “I’m not… This…”

Harry kisses him like five times but it’s barely noticeable on Louis’ lips. Louis feels so numb by the confusion he’s in. Harry is kissing him. When will that statement dig into his sore head. 

Harry rubs circles into Louis’ hips and whispers, “You alright?”

He doesn’t think he’s okay, but, “Yeah,” he says softly, “yeah I’m okay.”

Harry smiles and slips his thumbs into the waist band of Louis’ jeans, mouth closing in to Louis’ to collide slowly. Just maybe if Harry wasn’t such a good kisser pushing him away would be ten times easier than it is now. Maybe if Harry isn’t so fucking attractive everything would be easier. The mental battle in his brain keeps freezing him up. 

Wait. “Hang on,” Louis mutters mid-kiss, their teeth clicking before Harry pulls away with a chuckle. Louis wants to speak but Harry has no intention to keep his mouth away from the smaller boy, his head falling down to his collarbones to suckle along the sharp ridge of them. Louis holds in an embarrassing gasp. “W-What the fuck, aren’t you straight?”

“Hm,” Harry hums against his skin, and Jesus fucking Christ what is he doing. “Suppose not.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean.” Louis shovels a hand into Harry’s hair, kneading to keep him purring. His mouth trails all the way up his neck, to the point Louis tilts his head to let Harry have all access to his glowing skin. 

Harry presses their heaving chests together and laces one of his free hands with Louis’. “What else can it mean,” Harry hisses, biting into Louis’ skin before pecking it sweetly. “Means I’m not all in for girls. Something called bisexuality, dickhead.”

“How in Christ’s name was I supposed to know you’re into cock? With the amount of girls you’ve slept with, it’s fucking hard to tell.” He tugs at Harry’s curls when Harry nibbles into a sweet spot, sending shivers down Louis’ spine. Harry just bites and licks at it, rocking his crotch into Louis and taunting him with relentless sexual frustration. And Louis thinks that’s the worst torture of them all.

“Hard to tell with how pretty you are if you have a boyfriend, is someone keeping you away from me, hm?” It’s probably a question, but Harry knows well and truly Louis has been single since his first steps into high school. “Or maybe they just realised how much of a bastard you are and don’t want to put themselves into a miserable relationship.”

“Ha, ha,” Louis laughs half-heartedly. “You should come with a warning sign to your little girls who want to suck you off. I don’t think they want to be choking on small objects any time soon.”

Harry fucking sneers at that but doesn’t relent on kissing Louis’ love bitten neck. Their laced hands come undone, but there’s no stopping Harry from not getting the touch he wants. He has a tight hold on Louis’ wrist, crushing the tiny thing almost. Harry leans up from his markings and grins down to Louis. Louis is smiling back because... how can he not. Harry’s still so fucking pretty and lovely and he’s still trying to believe Harry is kissing him. Harry had marked him.

He kisses Louis roughly. Louis forces his leg around Harry’s thigh to keep him supported against the oak tree. Then, Harry pulls back with the same sneer on his face from five minutes ago. Great.

Harry guides Louis’ wrist to his crotch and, oh my fucking God. 

“Think the warning should be for something else, babe.”

Louis is feeling so damn hot right now and he just needs Harry to kiss him for the next ten hours. He grasps the back of his neck and drags him down to crash lips, hotly tracing his tongue against Harry’s bottom lip. His hard on is digging right into Louis’ crotch. Maybe being a massive dick to Louis in the years helped with his junk downstairs during puberty. Or whatever. He hasn’t felt so warm and jittery under his skin in years. 

He grinds into Louis and releases a desperate groan to the side. Louis attaches his mouth just underneath the lobe of his ear and glides his hand down his back, kissing just at the sweet spot to make Harry wheeze into Louis’ shoulder. Louis digs his fingers into Harry’s shirt and takes a fist of cotton to keep him up steady as Harry rocks into him. He feels butterflies fluttering uncontrollably in his stomach, and he’s definitely hard. He’s probably been hard since Harry said he looked good at the party. But whatever. Harry’s hard too, because of Louis. Harry is hard because of Louis.

Harry draws back, finally catching the inability to do much but moan into Louis’ neck, and finds Louis’ mouth again to attack with a million and one kisses. He slides a hand down Louis’ torso, and Louis can feel the slight up curve of Harry’s lips when he touches his abdomen. The hand doesn’t stop in its tracks, sliding to the front of Louis’ tight jeans where Harry’s fingers linger on the zipper. He doesn’t undo anything. He just keeps his hand there and it’s obvious he wants Louis to do something first, just in case Harry makes a mistake.

So Louis puts pressure against Harry’s hand, also tightening his leg around Harry’s thigh to bring everything impossibly closer. Louis squeaks as Harry squeezes at his crotch, then digs the heel of his  hand in all the right places. But he doesn’t dare to moan. Harry can please him all he wants, but falling to Harry’s touch without control would make him weak. 

But it’s so, so difficult when Harry twists his hand so delicately and kisses Louis’ love bites at the same time. He gulps so much and pants into the fresh air surrounding them just so he can keep little oh’s from slipping past his mouth. But Harry knows he’s falling to pieces. And that is definitely not a good thing. 

So much libido is overriding him, and it over takes him entirely when Harry whispers, “Moan for me, Lou.”

He throws his head back, knocking hard against the base of the oak tree, and hisses out an oh fuck under his ragged breath. It pleases Harry, and… well, Louis is fucked over.

“Jesus, Harry.” Louis struggles to hold himself up, nails clawing into Harry’s back as he moans out into the air. Shit, fuck-- he’s so stupid. He’s so, so stupid. He has Harry caught in between his legs and he’s making him groan and fall apart and he’s hardly doing anything to actually rouse Louis up. Embarrassing. 

Harry’s fingers are dipping into the bulge in his pants and Louis is loving the friction between his jeans and his cock. Harry doesn’t relent on the kissing. There’s never a moment Harry’s mouth is away from him. It’s always on him, somewhere; bruising his neck or nipping his lips. Louis keeps becoming lost in his own melting body. 

The phone rings in his jeans and Louis almost misses it. Harry doesn’t remove himself, tongue smooth against Louis’, and Louis ends up curling a hand behind himself to fish out the mobile buzzing rudely in his pocket. He opens his eyes to an unfocused view of Harry’s thick eyelashes framing his closed eyes. He reverts his vision to his phone, bright with the caller ID flashing Niall on the screen. Shit.

“Fuck, H,” Louis purrs, scratching at his chest to gain his attention. Harry hums but never loses touch with Louis. “I-I need to answer Niall. I’m his lift home.”

Harry groans irritably before pressing forward to smack their foreheads together. “He’s probably home with Zayn now,” Harry tells him. “Don’t answer. He’ll be fine, babe.”

Louis rolls his eyes and screws them shut when Harry palms at his crotch. “You're so fucking annoying,” he says bitterly, but he manages to exhale out a snicker. The rings subside and they’re no longer disturbed. “Fucking uptight, annoying piece of shit.”

“And look at you being a hungry whore.” And then Harry does the thing with his stupid, stupid hand and it catches Louis off guard once again. He whines into Harry’s neck and bites at the soft junction of his shoulder. “I know you want my cock in your mouth, sweetie.”

“Fuck right off, you desperate ass.” And the phone rings in his hands again, just when Harry leans forward to bite softly at his nose. Louis giggles into his mouth, giving him a simple kiss before saying, “I really should answer. He never calls twice.”

“He’ll stay with Liam, or Zayn. Liam’s meant to be with me, but he’ll find his way around. He’s nice enough to let Niall follow him,” Harry explains, and… well, that’s good enough of a convincing statement for Louis to hang up on the drunk caller. He finds his back pocket and hides his phone away again with their mouths tangled in one another. 

Harry suddenly whispers, “Stay with me tonight.”

Oh. “Oh,” Louis murmurs. He never expected this to come out of his pretty mouth. What has this night become. “Harry… you know I can’t--”

“Can you just forget about what happened before?” Harry’s thumbs rest at his jawline, smoothing over his shaven skin. Harry kisses him again before speaking. “The past shouldn’t affect us now.”

“You’re saying that because you’re hard.”

Harry laughs sardonically. “My dick doesn’t control my brain, love.”

“Sometimes, I think it does,” Louis grins, closing space between them and giving Harry a small peck under his lips. “But you know it’s not about our past, right? Well… it’s-- it kind of is, but it’s just complicated.”

“What’s complicating things?”

How can Harry not know what’s complicating things. It’s not the fact that Harry has attacked him for so long before this, but everyone knows. It gets around faster than Louis can probably jerk himself off to finish his high right now. The moment Louis declared Harry an enemy at lunch, it got around the entire school by the end of the school day. Everyone knows Louis hates Harry and Harry hates Louis. It’s never been otherwise. If Louis gets caught going back to Harry’s for a well deserved fuck, then it’s going to circulate and roll into a snowball of confusion; the overall result leading into a 6 month drama fest of teasing and exclusion.

But Harry’s just really fucking gorgeous and Louis has had him for… half an hour? And he doesn’t want to let go. Not when Harry grabs his ass, marks him, wants to fuck him-- everything. 

“I-I just… I feel like people won’t think it’s realistic,” Louis explains. Harry’s face doesn’t reek confusion, but he’s definitely not understanding Louis’ point. “We’ve fought for so long, you know? We can’t just show up at school one day as dandy as a pansy. We just… our reputations…”

Something clicks in Harry’s head, at least. “We don’t need to tell them.”

And Louis is left puzzled. “What?”

“We don’t need to tell them,” Harry repeats. “Look, if I come clean it will complicate things too. I haven’t come out yet… to a lot of people. You’re one of the first of many. We don’t need to tell them about what we do. We can sneak around, like the middle schoolers in the gym rooms. We can just play pretend.”

Playing pretend. How childish. “You think acting like a kid is going to work, Harold?”

“Who said it wouldn’t?”

Just… Louis likes to kiss boys, and if he’s handed the opportunity to touch Harry in all places then why the fuck not. No one will find out between them. Harry can’t tell anyone, so if Louis follows the rules too then they’ll be a secret. Their secret. Oh dear.

“And what will this bring me if I decide to stay with you tonight?” Louis sneers to him, creeping a hand under the hem of his cotton tee and dipping his finger in the crease of his v lines. He keeps his stare on Harry, then drags his bottom lip between his teeth and tilting his head down, revealing the large doe eyes of innocence.

“I can assure you plenty.” Harry leans in to kiss his nose gingerly, finding Louis’ hands and lacing them together. He knocks their foreheads together and sighs happily. “We could totally watch movies together, like The Notebook, or Titanic, wouldn’t that be--”

“You moron,” Louis laughs, pulling Harry further into his chest. He faces down to kiss at his neck, Harry’s cock still burning heat in his pants. Louis can feel it against him again, and Louis really wants to put it in his mouth right about now. “Now, what to do with your little problem.”

Little,” Harry teases with a snicker, hips jutting forwards to press further into Louis’ thigh. “You’d choke on my dick for other reasons.”

“Really now.” A hypnotised Louis falls into his touch, moaning softly at Harry’s shoulder. Harry whirs into Louis’ temple with a gentle “hm”, then Louis grins. “Letting you know I don’t have a gag reflex.”

“Fuck,” Harry hisses with a kiss to Louis’ temple. “You’re absolutely sinful.”

“Fuck my mouth, couldn’t you?” Louis says, and there’s a muffled “yeah” from Harry’s mouth smothered by Louis’ delicate skin. Louis sucks in the cold air, shivering when Harry removes and curves his hands around Louis’ ass to squeeze timidly. He knows how to use them well. Louis is very excited to be attached to them. “Take you all in, let you use me. I can be your good boy, H.”

Harry groans out with a desperate grunt, and Louis giggles with the supremacy he’s attained. “Fuck, I wanna take you home.”

“I’m all yours,” Louis whispers. “Let’s go home.”

Harry does take him. Louis does follow. Harry is spread on the sheets, thighs over Louis’ shoulders, with Louis at the edge of the bed taking him down as promised. Nothing else happens, and that’s alright. 

Louis sleeps in with Harry until late morning. Only when waking up Harry isn’t beside him, he immediately realises what he’s done is a irreversible mistake. 

He flees the house without telling Harry, and calls a hung over Niall to pick him up from a dog park across the road. 

: :

The Monday swings past too quick and Louis is stuck by his locker with Niall, nervous to the bone. 

He’s sure Harry won’t come up to him in daylight hours. He’d be stupid to do that. The discussion between them doesn’t erase because Louis had left. If Harry was angry, he wouldn’t say he hooked up with Louis; his problem still applies of being known as straighter than the planks across the gym floor. 

And that’s where he lays at morning recess, sprawled across varnished wood as Niall practices shooting with a basketball. Louis thinks mindlessly, unable to concentrate on other living things at the moment. Not even Niall’s multiple calls of “Lou” gains his eyes and ears, but the smack of the ball thrown at his chest makes Louis sit up attentively. 

“You looked dead-er than my grandma.” And of anything, of course Niall would comment about a passed relative. The thing is, Niall didn’t even care. And that’s why Louis worries about the carefree bloke way too much. “Something on your mind?”

Niall’s his best friend, and never has there been something shared if it’s locked with the secrecy padlock. Louis could tell him, but of all things to be said should he mention something about the enemy who had his cock in his mouth two fucking nights ago. Should he even mention Harry’s name?

“Just thinking,” Louis says. “You know, interschool’s coming up… a little worried.”

“Training this Friday, right?” Niall asks, and Louis nods with a sigh on the floor. He feels like he’s melting, or maybe fading into the sheer guilt that he’s put himself in. He should find Harry, maybe talk to him in the Janitor’s closet. 

No, Louis doesn’t do well in confined places. Whether it be between Harry’s arms by a tree, or in a tiny closet; something will happen.

“I’ll stay at home, if you don’t mind,” Niall continues, and Louis almost forgets all over again. Great. “S’not like Mum cares anyway.”

“Yeah, that’ll be alright,” Louis nods. It’s not that it’s a big deal that Niall’s sleeping over on Friday, but Harry might plan something… if this thing was going to continue. But there’s things Louis would really, really love to do with Harry, to Harry. “Pizza will be ours that night.”

“Indeed,” Niall hums. And that’s that.

Floating past is two more uneventful blocks of English and Maths. He’s heading for lunch, a small lunch set in his locker for him to enjoy. He’s excited for it, as always. It’s an easy block of gym after lunch; a lesson to look forward to, and not because Harry’s in his class. But maybe it is, now. Harry’s in his class. Flexed arms and sweaty skin… pulling on the sheets and fucking up into Louis’ mouth, groaning left to right. Fuck.

So next lesson is going to be intense, possibly unbearably hot. Louis decides maybe wearing a pair of trackies over his red shorts will cover up any part of a bulge showing. He keeps a mental note to change into said pants later in the hour.

But for now, he’s eating. He’s grabbed his locker food and has met Niall by one of the benches outside the cafeteria. It’s their usual spot, a clean metal bench for them and only them. A birch tree is sprawled over them and shading the area gently. Louis can still feel his skin burning up, however, but it’s a good feeling; being tanned. Golden, glowing skin is his plan to become Harry’s worst nightmare.

He thinks he’s in the clear for the time being, heading back to the lockers to rid the extra homework and dump unnecessary books. He collects his sports gear. Niall and him separated from there on; Niall to his music session and Louis to the Gym rooms to change into appropriate wear. The corridors are barren, but Louis walks as if there’s a swarm of children looking up to him, fearing him. He walks with precision and care, a bit of smize. Until there’s a soft gruff behind him that catches his breath and makes him suck his tongue.

“Have you been trying to avoid me?” And he’s the one to ask, of course. Louis doesn’t try to spare the time between them being together and being caught, so he pulls him into the closest room right. No teachers are present in the History room, so Louis locks the door and twists to see Harry no less than 5 centimetres from him. Shit.

“Why would I avoid you?” Louis asks, and he has every reason to avoid him. But he has every reason not to do as so, either.

“Don’t know, maybe you’re scared that I’m not going to return the favour just as well as you did me.” An incredibly flirtatious boy stands before him, and Louis really can’t believe it. But then again, he can’t believe he sucked Harry off no less than 48 hours ago. 

He shifts his hands on Harry’s hips and pulls him in. He’s got quite a lovely shirt on, a tight maroon shirt. His pants are impossibly tighter, hugging his porcelain legs that are probably still love bitten from Louis’ jaws on Saturday night. He smirks up to Harry, and Harry has the same devilish expression crossing his face. Louis fucking loves it.

“Felt good on Saturday, didn’t you?” Louis breathes, feeling Harry’s lips come close to his cheek, grazing ever so lightly to make Louis shiver terribly. “Came so hard in my mouth. Fucking love the taste of you--”

“Louis, we have gym after this,” Harry reminds unnecessarily. Louis shrugs, and he knows. He knows they have gym, and he knows Harry never wears sports trackies. And that maybe a thing Louis plans to use against Harry.

“I know.” Louis cups a hand around Harry’s ass and draws his hand back to slap against the denim of his jeans. Harry grunts softly into Louis’ ear, whispering “Christ” mercilessly. “Free after school today? Love for you to fuck me in the showers.”

“God, I wish I fucking could,” Harry hisses. “I-I have work this afternoon, s-shit.”

“Oh no, Harry,” Louis sighs sarcastically, “well, we have ten minutes now? That enough for you? Fuck me hard over the desk, pull my hair? Slap my ass with a ruler? Draw slut across my back with the marker? How about it, H?”

Harry keens his crotch into Louis and twists a hand into Louis’ hair. “Fuck you, you sinful son of a bitch. Trying to get me hard before gym class, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

“Oh, baby, nothing the fuck wrong with me. I just need your massive cock up my ass, fill me up - make me your pretty boy, isn’t that right?” Louis teases, and he never knew that Harry could absolutely lose it, but he does. Harry dips down and bites hard into Louis’ neck. Louis squeaks into the air, pulling on the back hem of Harry’s shirt and snarling out in pain. “Piece of shit, how dare you.”

“I’m going to fuck you so hard one day,” Harry says roughly. “Pin you hard against the wall until your wrists are purple, make you beg for it. Keep you in my bed for days, hands and knees all worn and sore--”

“No way,” Louis laughs, voice broken with sighs. “No way you’re going to get me hard, you little shit. I’m not up for that, bastard.”

“You’re fucking unfair, aren’t you?” Harry attacks unhappily. “I mean look at me, I’m fucking busting a boner and you think it’s okay for you to be all soft while I have to struggle with this for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Not my fault you get so horny over my words,” Louis spits back, and Harry makes sure he regrets shit, fucking up into Louis’ crotch deeply. Louis knocks his head back and wraps a leg around Harry’s thigh to pull him in. “Fuck, keep… keep fucking into me.”

He sucks back a breath and holds onto it; all his might not to release it with a moan that’s choking up in his throat. Harry doesn’t relent. He proceeds with caution to hopefully not stain the only pair of jeans he’s sporting wickedly. Louis isn't making it an easy task for Harry, or rather himself, feeling his crotch swell with Harry’s timid thrusts into him. Louis’ mind is in complete static; he can’t think. A hot boy is grinding against him, again, on school grounds, with 10 minutes to spare. And right now, he really wants Harry’s dick in his hand.

It comes to a shock for the both of them when Louis shoves his hand down Harry’s front. Harry’s cock is snug in Louis’ hand, Harry sighing warmly into Louis’ mouth with weak groan. Louis snickers and clicks their teeth when he reaches further and grinds his hand against him daringly. Harry bites hard at his bottom lip with no shame as he moans into the air. Louis feels dizzy, eyes fluttering open to watch as Harry’s head falls back and juts his hips forward in search for friction.

But 10 minutes falls short when there’s a knock on the door, and both scramble to opposites sides of the room. A teacher walks in, suspicious. He asks about their doings inside the class without a teacher present and all Louis does is stand up, free from anything too embarrassing downstairs, and say the two of them were looking for something. The teacher doesn’t question it, telling them to get out and get to class before he assigns them detention. 

Louis follows Harry suite out of the class room, both walking far apart from each other to Gym class where Louis slides on his trackies without any hesitation and watches Harry from the small stand of bleachers. Harry’s on one knee tying up a loose shoelace, tongue sticking out to the side and eyebrows furrows in deep concentration. Louis admires him, but darts away his eyes when there’s a shout from the left - a classmate. Great. He doesn’t have freedom anymore. He can’t even look towards Harry because it would deem suspicious.

The block starts off and Louis is stretching with his classmates in preparation to perform a random beep test. He didn’t know how hard it would be to not look at Harry, or banter in a way that’s slightly amusing or sexual. He didn't know how hard it would be to actually hate Harry when he actually doesn’t hate him… that much. He hates him, Louis knows he hates him. Just maybe not as much as before. But there’s definitely hate. Louis has hated him for so long that it would feel odd to not hate him. 

Louis has hated him for so long that it would feel odd, to anyone, to not hate him. And if anything could devastate Louis more, it’s the thought of knowing that this secret can only be kept between himself and Harry because there’s just no other way to convince people that maybe the feud is over between them. 

: :

The feud is definitely not over between them. 

Harry overtakes him on their third lap around the 4 poles, and Louis might trip him over the next time he tries to get ahead. He paces himself faster, breath still quite relaxed but very heavy. He has his head hanging low with sweat beading up on his golden forehead. Against the sun, he looks like he’s been showered with glitter. Managing to look good while running has always been a hard job for anyone - but Louis.

The poles are merely 6 metres apart from one another, forming a square where trainers run laps around them. Their mentor for the trip is working them hard in training them this lovely Friday afternoon. There’s 15 laps to complete altogether, and Louis is making sure he keeps count maybe to distract himself from Harry’s rugged breaths that Louis can hear from a mile away. They sound all too similar to those breaths of last Saturday night.

The mentor, Mr Jupp, praises them with a yell. Louis and Harry are not alone. Selected champions from the lower levels of high school have also been chosen and are running laps. However, they’re slow, and Louis hasn’t seen anyone else but Harry’s arse bouncing in front of him. He’s glad about that - no one’s there to block the view. 

He ends up catching close to Harry’s steps by the time they’re on their 5th lap, and he’s making sure he doesn’t let him pass by him again. It’s training, Louis reminds himself, but everything against Harry seems like a competition. Whether it be running for the interschool cross country, or trying to make each other hard during the breaks they have spare. 

And that’s been quite an issue in this past week. Louis hasn’t worn any form of exceptionally tight pants at all, and it’s a miraculous feeling of being so free without anything cramping up his easily-formed blue balls. He doesn’t think he’s wanked himself hard enough in his life until this week. Harry’s making everything very difficult, and sometimes he doesn’t even do anything. Harry would be just standing there and Louis would remember it with some form of photographic memory and get off until his bones are shaking and mouth is trembling open later that night.

It’s insane how much of an impact Harry has on him. And it surprises Louis that it’s not a bad type of influence. Well, could be bad since Louis is probably about to get hard in front of classmates and everyone would think it’s for someone else other than Harry, who’s currently panting and has his mouth hanging open and water bottle tight in his large hands. Just fucking insane.

“Look who’s here.” Louis shoots his head left, where Harry grins at him but doesn’t slow his pace. They’re making good time. It’s the 13th lap now. It wouldn’t harm them if they did slow down a bit, but why should they. “Never knew baby tigers could run as fast as the cheetah.”

“Implicitly admitting you’re a cheater, Styles?” Louis smirks over to him, squeezing his water bottle to squirt out to the grass before lifting it up to his mouth and taking a sip. He hears Harry grunt beside him, and Louis keeps smiling as they run together. “Baby tigers are more vicious, you know. Can be dangerous.”

“Whatever,” Harry hisses. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk to Louis. He doesn’t want to run out of breath. Louis doesn’t care. 

“Claws are sharp, aren’t they. Could easily claw into skin and create a scratch that could last for days, weeks. Imagine that on your back,” Louis taunts cheekily. 

Harry pretends to be unfocused on Louis as they turn around the bend of the pole. He tries to speed himself up, but he fails miserably as Louis catches up with him once again. 

Louis keeps up until the final lap, and passes the line first with Harry behind him as a close second. Their mentor pats them on the back and praises them once again, rewarding them with a slow walk towards the back of the school where cold water fountains are located. Harry requests him and Louis to fill up their bottles while the other students continued to train, and for emphasis on how much Louis does indeed hate Harry, he groans an “okay” and fucks off with Harry.

Even by the time they’re blocked from view by the students, they don’t come close to one another. Louis is well behind Harry when they trot towards the fountains. It’s until the moment they reach the metal basins that they begin to talk. Somewhat nicely, too. 

“Haven’t seen you at all today,” Louis says. “Waiting for a certain something?”

“Been busy,” Harry pants, unscrewing the top of his bottle and chucking the lid leftward. “Working hard, studying… Aiming to be the champion of everything, you see.”

“Right,” Louis laughs. Harry’s perplexed about his sarcasm - if it was sarcasm at all. “Might not be the champion of everything--”

“Yeah, whatever, asshole. Just know that I’m aiming to be going super hard for this title. I’m going to nationals, you’re not.” Harry pokes him hard in the chest, just above his nipple. Louis’ expression doesn’t flinch with Harry’s aggressive tone. “I don’t fucking care if we’re friends, or whatever we will be. I’m not going soft to let you win this fucking title.”

“And you think I’m thinking otherwise on my behalf?” Louis scoffs with amusement. He unscrews his lid as well, stepping in front of Harry to fill up his bottle. “A fucking prick like you doesn’t deserve to win. I’ve already trained three times this week, running around the blocks and doing all I can to make sure I’m the one going to nationals.”

“Training isn’t everything. It’s the performance on the day that counts, Tomlinson.”

“More training equals high performance. I thought they taught you that in primary school, bastard.” Louis screws the lid of his bottle on, and side steps so Harry can get access to the fountain. Louis is about to walk away, absolutely done with Harry’s shit today. He wants to get back home to Niall and 4, hopefully still in tact, slices of pizza. His legs are sore and muscles are tense. His mind is boggled with aggressive thoughts and competitiveness.

“Where the fuck are you going,” shouts Harry, and it frightens Louis. 

Louis doesn’t turn around, only putting his hands up in a “I don’t know” motion before sarcastically exclaiming, “Disneyland, fuckwit.”

Slow steps speed up behind him and Louis wants to turn around, but he figures Harry’s going to come up beside him and they’d walk back together. What Louis doesn’t think about is that Harry hasn’t seen him all day and not seeing each other all day means a whole lot of tension has been brought up between them and Louis really wants to fucking kiss him. 

Harry’s behind him, crotch places right where the swell of his arse is, and puts his lips down to the exposed part of his shoulder. He kisses softly, and Louis coos as he turns his head away from Harry’s mouth to expose more sun kissed skin. His large hands, hands so very large, are on his hips and his index fingers slide under the waist elastic of his sport shorts, also catching under the elastic of his thin briefs. Louis blinks towards the field. No one can see them unless someone comes up here, which in no doubt will be soon. Louis panics slightly.

“H,” and Harry doesn't stop fucking kissing him for God’s sake. There’s soft pecks under his jaw line all the way down to the junction between his neck and shoulder. Louis is buzzing jovially, but he’s paranoid about getting caught. “We need to move, babe.”

So Harry does move them. Very, very far right they go into bushes that surround the school and make it look 150 times more prestigious than it is. Louis didn’t even know these bushes were capable of holding and hiding people inside until Harry shoves them both in and Louis can actually see very clearly inside the green shrub. It’s quite a small space inside, but it’s breathable that Louis doesn’t get caught up within his claustrophobia.

But Harry makes him lose his breath with a hand under his shirt almost instantly, fingers crawling up to his nipple where he tweaks at it with his finger and thumb. Louis gasps and kicks his leg out to stab at Harry’s thigh. Harry hums disapprovingly.

“I hate you,” Harry hisses. “I fucking hate you, and your fucking snobby attitude. You think you can do absolutely everything when you can’t. Every trophy will be mine. I shall remind you of that until the day you die.”

Louis doesn’t even care. Harry’s touching his nipples and they’re harder than the rocks underneath him prodding his back. Louis runs the toe of his shoe up Harry’s thigh, guiding it slowly to press directly on Harry’s crotch and rub gently against him. Harry groans and falls forward, hand slipping away from underneath Louis’ shirt to meet with Louis’ hands above his head. He keens into Louis, feeling his legs wrap right around his waist and digging Harry’s crotch further into his own. And Louis is the first to break out a vivid moan that would be easily heard to anyone passing close to the bushes.

Harry grins against Louis’ neck and presses kisses onto his soft skin. Louis’ eyes are gently closed; he can feel them about to screw themselves shut if Harry were to fuck up into him again and-- there he goes. The toes of his shoes plummet into his calves, the soft muscles being pinched as Louis dragged the rubber of his Nike’s along the toned area. 

He knows he’s hard, and he doesn’t feel as embarrassed as he was when he was barricaded by Harry’s arms against the tree. He knows Harry’s in the same position he’s in, overridden with lust and high from the french kisses they share. Louis can feel him hard against his own cock, and there’s a hand down there to aid his all-too-big of a problem.

“Fucking hell, Harry.” Louis tilts his chin up to expose more of his wonderful neck and whines into the air. With all the time in the world to waste, he whispers out that Harry should take his time and give him want he wants. Harry complies without any words against Louis’. After all, he does owe him a favour, and that favour was going to be returned.

“What’re your plans for tonight?” Harry asks, hand gripping around his girth and sucking a warm love bite under Louis’ jawline. Harry hears him groan. “Plans, baby. Plans.”

“I-I… I have Niall staying over,” Louis hisses out. He hears Harry hum disapprovingly. “H-H… I could-- Oh my God, fuck--”

Harry’s hands slide to his hips, slowly pulling down the extra clothes unneeded. Louis lifts his bottom from the rocky ground, helping Harry to shift his sport shorts down his thighs, leaving him with his briefs covering his cock now completely visible and, for Harry, mouth watering.

“You could what?” Harry questions above him.

“I… We can just… I can tell him to g-go home,” Louis stammers with hands curling into the dirt. “Mum isn’t home until later…”

Harry nods an “okay”, heel of his hand grinding down into his tented briefs. “Okay, yeah. Fuck, let’s do that.”

And Louis expects maybe for Harry to probably go down on him and suck his dick, or maybe at least take off his briefs and give him a hand job or something. Instead, his pants are being lifted up and he’s being fully dressed, and Louis immediately glares at him.

“You’re fucking joking.”

But Harry isn’t. “Look at this fucking idiot chucking a sook when he has to go back to training while hard. It’s almost like you didn’t do the exact same thing five days ago.”

Of course he would. It’s Harry Styles for God’s fucking sake. “Why the fuck did I even suck your dick.”

Harry’s grinning at him, the stupid Cheshire cat. He leans over and kisses Louis on the mouth softly; the gentlest kiss they’ve had. And Louis has never known how much he craved it until now. Just feeling the contour of Harry’s mouth on his, with the slight gingerliness it brings warmness, and affection. And then Harry’s gone.

“I’ll tell coach you feel like you’re gonna chuck up,” Harry whispers. Louis’ hands graze across Harry’s torso, still wanting to ravish him. “Call Niall, yeah?”

“I will,” Louis says. “I’ll head off, buy some cheap alcohol for us. Might need it.”

Harry’s face pulls itself into one of uncertainty. “I don't want to become drunk and forget.”

Louis thinks Harry’s gone soft. Why would he want to try and remember. He totally remembers when he sucked Harry off, and it’s still a massive regret. He doesn’t want to remember something he regrets. He wants Harry, but there’s still things Louis doesn’t want with Harry. That is, to remember everything that they shouldn’t be doing. 

They’re enemies after all.

: :

He has called Niall a thousand and one times. He has messaged him a thousand times more. He’s not answering the phone. And Harry is coming over in 5 minutes.

Niall’s not home. Niall’s somewhere. Niall is fucking somewhere and if Niall sees that Harry is at Louis’ house, unlimited sex jokes will be coming out of Niall’s ass and questions will be thrown at Louis’ face.

Louis has tried calling Harry to cancel plans until things are definite. Harry hasn’t answered his phone either; he’s driving. Which is fucking fantastic! If any day were to be the best day of Louis’ life, this one would certainly be it!

The door bell rings, and he’s hoping it’s Harry so he can tell him to fuck off before Niall arrives. Louis flies down the stairs in sweatpants and a soft t-shirt, carelessly sliding in his socks towards the front door to see it is indeed Harry outside. Things are finally turning around.

He opens the door and Harry slides in without greeting, immediately taking Louis’ hips into his large hands. He tries to kiss Louis with one of those chaste “how are you doing, babe?” kisses but Louis pushes him away instantly, as if he was a foreign being to Earth.

“You need to go,” Louis whispers. “Niall is still coming over.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “You said you were going to call off plans with him!”

“I was,” Louis murmurs, whispering for no good reason. Harry slumps in his spot, buzzing out a frustrated sigh. “He didn’t come over like he said he was going to before training. He waited like the fucking knob he is. And he won’t answer his phone. Now, you have to get out before he arrives.”

Harry frowns at him. Oh no. “But can’t you tell him to leave?”

“Harry, don’t make things difficult--”

“But you said you’d let me suck you off,” Harry whines childishly. He reaches forward for Louis’ hips again, dragging himself into Louis’ personal bubble and touching their feet. Louis doesn’t push him away, only hesitates to rest his hands on Harry’s waist also. He does eventually, and Louis smiles up to Harry who continues to pout at his foiled plans.

Louis can’t let this happen. “We can do it next Friday?”

His eyebrows furrow downward, like his frown. “Fuck you and your lack of organisation.”

“You know what.” Louis pushes him back aggressively. “You’re the one that could have sucked me off in the bushes. You know, when we actually had time and we were in private. Instead, you’re the one that made the shitty plan to come back to my place and decide to fuck with my already sorted plans!”

“What were you even going to do with Niall? For all I know, I saved you from a boring night of card stacking and pizza for body shots and Netflix and chill.”

“Netflix and chill with yourself,” argues Louis. Harry’s face remains angered, but it’s a passive anger. Maybe something not to be taken seriously. Harry knows that other plans overrule theirs. Their plans aren’t even supposed to happen. Harry shouldn’t even be in his house, let alone less than a metre away from his presence.

“I hate you,” Harry hisses at him. Louis stands his ground, only scoffing at his bright eyes of taunt. He then laughs at Harry, whose lips quirk up into an easy smile. “Coach told me today that room plans for the trip have been sorted too, so looks like in three weeks we’re going to be in the same hotel room for four nights.”

“What,” Louis says, baffled. “We’re sharing a room?”

“It was you or Coach.” Harry pads towards Louis, closing in the space and sliding his hands on Louis’ shoulders. “Told him that I meant no offence but I’d prefer to be with a student. Think he was a little suspicious that I wanted to be in the same room as you, but don’t really care. Means we can fuck in the sheets on the day alone.”

Oh God. “What the fuck you… you sinful piece of shit.”

“Hm,” Harry hums happily, staring at Louis with little importance to anything but him. It makes him feel a bit… special. It’s not like he should care that Harry only has eyes for him right now. It’s not like they’re a thing. It’s just a bit of tension that needs relieving, that’s all. “Could deal with that title. Good accomplishment.”

“It’d be your first accomplishment.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him, kicking at his foot. “I hate you.”

Victoriously, Louis bounces on the balls of his feet and giggles. Harry drags his steps backwards, hands resting on the door knob. He looks over to Louis once more, snake slit eyes still aimed at his gleaming body. 

“See you on training Monday, then,” Harry says softly. Louis nods him off. He’s quite sad, if he’s honest. He would rather Harry here than Niall, but he guesses that the long wait to their time alone would make things a lot better for them when the time actually comes.

Harry blows a kiss to Louis. His lips push forwards and make a loud noise, Louis giggling once again and stepping forward. He doesn’t catch the kiss, but instead presses his mouth on Harry’s for a small peck. Harry’s hands reach down to pinch at his bum. Louis doesn’t react to the touch, only telling Harry to piss off before--


Three knocks are upon the door. Harry blinks at the knob, mind blanked entirely. Louis panics hard enough to reach forward and slam his back against the door to prevent Niall from barging in.

“Louis?” He calls from outside. Niall sounds tired, from God knows what. Louis is tired too; tired from dealing with so much shit that now it’s finally going to ruin his secret with Harry. It’s hardly been a week.

“Hi!” Louis exclaims. Harry’s looking at him with wide eyes. Louis is similar, except there’s a hint of fury in his pupils. If Harry had just hurried the fuck up and left the house, this wouldn’t have happened. Fuck, they’re so fucked. “Sorry, give me a minute! I kind of had a problem with… a… bug.”

Niall doesn’t respond to him. Louis sighs slightly as he mouths to Harry go through the back, I’ll make sure Niall doesn’t see you. Harry nods and leans down to kiss him goodbye, and Louis slaps him square on the chest. 

“Fuck you,” Harry bites. Louis rolls his eyes and points down the hallway - the planned escape route for Harry. “I still want you.”

“Shut up and leave, twat.”

“Lou?” Niall questions. Louis’ eyes bulge out of his head. He prods at Harry’s chest to run and to keep running until the can’t run no more. Harry listens this time, pissing off just as Louis responds to Niall.

“Y-Yep, I just…” Louis stamps his foot on the wooden flooring, intending to sound like he’s killing a bug and distracting Niall from the sudden slam of the back door. Louis laughs nervously, huffing as he opens the front door and letting Niall into the house. Louis can only hope that Harry has fucked off. 

“Hi, sorry,” Louis murmurs, hand coming to his fringe and adjusting the small tufts of hair. He’s sure the stress and anxiety caused hair to stick out from all directions. Harry’s gone now. Thank fuck. That’s all the relief Louis needs. 

“Sounds like you had a boxing match in here,” Niall teases. “Let me guess, it was a ladybird?”

He fucking wishes it was a ladybird. “Shut up, Niall.”

: :

The next month Louis works and works and works. He proves himself that he’s worthy to win interschool. Training hasn’t been out of Louis’ mind the entire time, and neither has Harry. 

They’re heading down south next week Monday. Louis would be lying if he says he wasn’t nervous. As much as training has raised his confidence and boosted his egotistical mind, he has the fear of losing eating at his stomach. It’s not an unusual feeling. It’s the fact that this is going to lead him to interstate. He knows he’ll get in the top five. If he could beat Harry with the school cross country, he can sure as fucking hell get into the top five and travel over east for one of the biggest titles in the country.

Louis is already licking at his lips thinking about the deliciously golden trophy, free of scratches and so shiny that light pierces the eyes and blinds anyone who stares into it.

Everyday this week Louis has been coming to school to train before the nine o’clock bell, and stays afterwards until the sun fades over the gymnasium at 4:30. And of course Harry has always been present. He’d run laps and take notes of his time, he’d run the track that now seems too easy than it was one month ago, he’d pressure himself to be his best. He’d ask coach to pressure him. Mr. Jupp would, to a certain extent. And that extent was not enough. 

It’s noticeable that no matter how hard Louis tries there was going to be no stopping Harry from trying to be 100% better. It annoys him, if anything. It annoys him how determined Harry is to actually win this thing, how determined he is just to show Louis up and to make sure that he “knows his place”. Louis does know his place. It’s in the first place. He’s going to win. He knows he will. 

In turn of belittling one another and being at the other’s throat, Fridays have always been a thing. Harry’s been over Louis’ every Friday afternoon since the Friday of Ruined Plans due to Niall’s presence. Louis finally received Harry’s compensation for his dirty work earlier in the month. It happens every Friday. They’re alone, watching something that seems interesting; which always appears to be Orange Is The New Black. 10 minutes into the episode and Harry has Louis’ dick in his mouth. Not that Louis minds, just… sometimes he wants to watch TV, maybe talk a bit with Harry, maybe have dinner…

No. His thoughts jogs into Louis’ mind as fast as he’s pacing his steps currently. Harry and him are enemies. That’s how it is. Only that. Never anything else but that.

Coach calls them over for a few final words to Louis and Harry. It’s their last training before the trip. It’s to rest them up, make sure they’re capable enough to slam right into the hard, dirty work the moment they arrive down south. 

It was only them today. The other kids decided to take up training for tomorrow morning; on a Saturday, of all things. It was significantly harder to train with Harry, and Harry alone. Louis had no other place to turn to and distract himself. Harry was just there, always. Louis is quite concerned with himself.

“I hope you’re all bested your abilities,” their mentor speaks to them. Louis and Harry both nod without effort. Mr. Jupp nods back at them. “You got a real chance on your hands, both of you. I know you’ll do great.”

Louis believes him. So does Harry. 

Louis expects to see Harry after in the showers. He doesn’t. The last time he sees him is when he gets into his locker in the corridors before exiting the school, and Louis is left to shower without a single goodbye from him. Not usual, but then again, not very unfamiliar. It’s just them. Enemies.

The next time he sees him is the Monday morning, when Coach is loading them all into the 16 seater hire bus. Seniors are prioritised first seats, so Harry is first on with the immediate fall into the first single standing chair. Louis takes the furtherest seat from him, also in a single seat.

For the four hours they drive down south, Louis doesn’t speak to Harry once. He rarely spoke at all, earphones jammed into his ears with music hammering at its highest decibel. Louis looks out the window too many times, pretends he’s in a music video half of the time. His life isn’t sad enough to play in a video. It’s not interesting enough either. Bushes and bitumen run by the bus, and Louis’ heart races when the bus begins to slow down significantly.

They had arrived at their destination, all pieces of baggage were taken from the back of the bus’ storage and handed out to their rightful owners. Louis catches Harry’s stare from the light post just by the front entrance of the hotel. Harry doesn’t move from his spot by the curb. It saddens Louis.

“Please be respectful when you head inside,” says their mentor. Responsible nods come from all around, and all of them enter the hotel in a tight knit line. Louis doesn’t wait for Harry. He drags his suitcase behind himself and is one of the first out of 15 to enter the four star hotel. By the modern art he spots the moment he walks in, he can tell this place is in to give them a treat.

They’re huddled by the front desk like cold penguins. They’re blocking the entrance to the elevators for other guests, but no one seems to mind. Their mentor signs them in, and the other parent is hidden in the gaggle of children. They’re signed in with no worries, and Mr. Jupp stands in front of the group and draws their attention in with a waggle of one of the room keys.

One by one, individuals flee and the huddle soon becomes a tight circle of five. The last three individuals are called, three females from the year below Louis. They giggle and take the key and squabble to the elevators with their bags clicking over the grouted tiles. Louis and Harry stay separate from one another. Playing pretend has never felt more miserable.

“Look,” Mr. Jupp whispers in a soft tone, “I totally understand if fights happen, ‘right. If you need a room change, we will organise one for you.”

He hands Harry the key, Room 408, and Harry holds it dear in his very, very large hands. Harry doesn’t speak, only barging forward with his black suitcase and making Louis follow like a rancid sheep. They take separate elevators to the 4th floor, they know the teachers were still watching. They both arrive on the floor simultaneously, and both scroll their baggage to their door, still remaining silent just in case.

Harry takes his time opening the door, not sliding in the key correctly and earning a “hurry the fuck up” from Louis. Harry becomes disgruntled, finally opening the door and revealing a lush place of blacks and whites and browns. A few greens and a few blues. Louis charges in without asking, probably rolling the wheels of his suitcases over Harry’s sensitive feet, but it’s whatever.

He walks down the corridor and passes a wooden door on the left, which Louis assumes would be the bathroom. He travels further down the wooden linoleum and in view is a kitchenette between the one of the bathroom walls and another wall separating the view of the kitchen entirely. It’s lovely, all modern and chic. A tiny dining table in white sits by one of the walls, where a picture of a distorted dog hangs. He arrives in the bed area, not blocked off by any walls, neither is there privacy. It annoys him, but he supposes that the kitchen wall is enough. 

After setting his suitcase down, the first thing he does is gaze at the view. It’s stunning. It’s one of the highest buildings in the area, so there’s much being exposed to them. The window is wide and tall, revealing one of the most prized views of what will be the setting sun over the horizon.

Harry still doesn’t speak to him, the fucker. He jumps to one of the two single beds, claiming the left one closest to the walk in closet with wooden shutter doors blocking the entry way. Spread over the beds is a black doona over white sheets, and next to Harry’s bed there’s a fern in a pot. It makes the bed area aesthetically pleasing. In fact, the entire room is pleasing to the human eye. 

Louis explores before anything. In the corner of the room a TV is bracketed to the wall, a good quality television with at least 73 different channels. There’s some white mini sofas angled towards that right in front of it. The minibar fridge has bar nuts and chocolates inside it, and Louis knows he’ll steal a few of those when Harry isn’t looking. The bathroom is pristine and exquisite. Yes, Louis thinks this place is definitely worth it.

It’s just the matter if the people inside it are definitely worth it. A certain person of the name Harry Styles. 

Harry finds the remote from somewhere, and switches the TV on from his bed. Louis paces over to the side of his bed, staring down at him and Harry just doesn’t fucking care. He watches TV as if Louis was a ghost. He’s been treating Louis like that for the past day. It’s going to drive him nuts if Harry doesn’t at least swear at him.

Instead of provoking him, or shouting at him, Louis straddles his thighs which elongate down towards the bed. Harry sets down the TV remote. Louis thinks that maybe Harry’s going to touch his hips, or his hair, or fucking something. Instead, Harry stretches his neck upward to get a better, not so disrupted, view of the cooking show playing on the screen. Louis frowns.

“Come on,” Louis murmurs close to his face, eyes soft as they preen at Harry. “I want you.”

Harry grins at him, eyes finally meeting his after what seemed to be forever. “You’re cute when you’re needy.”

“It’s not fucking cute, I,” Louis kisses him chastely, but it’s not a timid peck. “It’s fucking embarrassing. God, I tried not to fall apart on Friday when you didn’t come over to suck me off.”

“Oh,” Harry perks up, hands sliding over his curvy hips and settling at the swell of his ass. He fits so well into Harry’s hands. Puzzle pieces. Like the puzzle pieces where the kid has cut off the ends so the pieces would actually fit. 

“Left me heartbroken.” Louis cards his hands into Harry’s locks, lifting the hair from his forehead and showing his dainty green eyes. They’re bright today. Like Harry’s entire face. Harry’s glowing. Probably from pure excitement. That or he’s actually the sun. “Need something to repair my heart.”

Harry snickers. “Shower’s right there, all for yourself. I got a bottle of lube in the first zipper pocket of my suitcase. I’ll give you the night, I’ll probably shower in the morning--”

“Harry,” Louis growls, less playful this time. He’s not putting up with the teasing. No more. “You said… I want… I just want you.”

Harry squeezes at his ass, pulling Louis further up his thighs. “Me,” Harry whispers back to him, smirk so wide on his mouth it might split it. “Me? Hm, you want me.”

“You,” Louis demands. “You, you, you, you.”

“Where do you want me?”

Louis grins as his fingers glide over the goose pimpled skin on Harry’s arms. He reaches back to touch at Harry’s hands spread over the swell of his ass. Louis clasps their hands together, the palm of his hands on the back of Harry’s. He rolls his crotch to push against them, gaining the ultimate friction between them that makes Louis’ eyes flutter shut briefly. He lifts up a hand, still joined with Harry’s, and brings to the top of his trackies, where the fingers now play at the elastic. Louis doesn’t guide him for the rest of the way; Harry knows where to go.

He releases Harry’s fingers and they’re soon under the elastic of Louis’ pants, and bare hands are on bare ass, and Harry moans softly as he squeezes at his cheeks. Louis closes his eyes, head falling lazily onto Harry’s shoulder as he breathes out shakily. It’s almost tremulous. Louis hopes to God Harry doesn’t stop.

Harry catches Louis’ ear lobe between his lips, a voice so grainy seeping into Louis’ ear as it whispers, “I hate you.”

“God fucking shi-- I hate you too,” he hisses out, much louder than intended. “Hate you so much. Can’t stand you.”

Harry drags his mouth across Louis’ sharp cheekbones, placing a wet kiss just under his eye. Harry groans, “Expect so much of me, don’t you. Bet you you’re going to ask for it at midnight tonight, aren’t you? Right under the sheets. No one will know what we would have done but the cleaners,” and Harry fucking laughs.

Louis pushes back against Harry’s hands. They’re warm and tame against his velvety skin. Louis is yet to kiss him with the desired passion he wants. Right now, he really needs to get off, and he doesn’t know how to. He just needs Harry to do it for him. He knows it’s only going to be Harry who can get him over the too high of an edge. 

“Piece of trash,” Louis bites at him. “Ignoring me for training. Ignoring me because of this fucking competition. Not enough time for me. I hate you so much. Almost like you don’t hate me as much as I hate you.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry whispers, fingers dancing down towards Louis’ hole with the tips catching at his rim. “I fucking loathe you.”

Louis huffs bitterly. “I loathed you--” and Harry nudges right at the rim, a finger tight at the entrance. It’s uncomfortable, but terribly fantastic. “I-I… I loathed you… first.”

“Is that right?” Harry tilts his head up, Louis joining as their faces line up to one another. Louis is breathing heavily onto Harry’s face, feeling his fingers touch him in all the right places. “I want you to ride me.”

“Don’t wanna fucking listen to you,” he growls. He pushes himself down, Harry’s hands forced to move around the curves of his bum. Louis sits directly on his hip bones, feeling a small prod just at his tailbone. He knows what that is. “I want you, but I don’t want you to enjoy it.”

“God, you’re atrocious,” Harry laughs miserably. Louis doesn’t giggle at that. He breathes hotly onto Harry’s skin, mouth attached to Harry’s rosy cheeks. “Letting you know I don’t have condoms.”

Louis pauses immediately. “You what.”

“I don’t have them,” Harry whispers, and Louis sits up, hands on Harry’s stomach as the dumbfounded boy glares at the idiot. “Louis, I literally brought lube. Did you really think I would have brought condoms--”

“You were the one that fucking told me that we were going to fuck here,” Louis says angrily, hands fisting at Harry’s shirt. He doesn’t know if it’s from frustration or from how much he needs to get off. “Honestly why the fuck-- Are you seriously… Fuck you, Harry. Holy Mother of Pearl you’re a fucking idiot--”

“Oi.” Harry shoves at his chest, Louis falling from his hipbones and in between Harry’s spread legs. Harry doesn’t give him time to sit up and try and defend himself. He towers over him with arms on either side of Louis’ head, bracketing him underneath Harry’s negative aura. “If you think I’m like that, I’m not. I honestly didn’t have any at home--”

“So what? Just because you say you’re not like that it means that you think it’s okay for us to have sex unprotected?” Louis asks him seriously. “Harry, you fucking knew. Don’t push this away. I’m not as much of an idiot as you suppose--”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

Louis raises his eyebrows, clearly baffled by the question. “Trust you? You really think I can trust you with fucking me unprotected--”

“Louis, this isn’t about not being protected. Why don’t you trust me when I say I didn’t have anything at home?” Harry questions with sincerity hidden behind his pupils. “I wouldn’t have done shit with you. I fuck other people too. I ran out. I didn’t have enough time to go to the store. Tomorrow night we can. We have the shopping trip, remember?”

Yes, Louis remembers. Okay, he didn’t think that maybe Harry couldn’t be lying. Okay, Harry might be right. But wait… he isn’t just… his?

And he shouldn’t dwell so much on that, but he does, and even has the nerve to ask, “You… you and other people?”

Harry doesn’t seem affected by Louis’ uneasiness when he asked that question. “Yeah, I do have other people, Louis. I’m not just alone.”

Oh… right. “Right, I… I didn’t mean to sound… you know. I just,” and Louis sounds like a fool, and he wants to stop sounding like a fucking fool. But he can’t, because… why didn’t Harry tell him. “You didn’t tell me, that’s all.”

“Does it matter?”

Yes. It does. But it doesn’t. They’re enemies. This is just something that happens because they’re sexually frustrated and find each other a little bit hot. Just a thing.

“No,” Louis shakes his head, smiling apprehensively. “Not at all. Just… s-sorry.”

Harry looks at him. If Louis had looked closely, he would have seen that Harry was studying him. However, Harry got nothing out of it but confirmation that Louis is 100% okay with Harry being with other people.

Harry nods and releases Louis from underneath him. Louis slides out, hard in his sweatpants, but every bit of  thought of Harry fucking other people is making sure it falls flaccid in no less than a minute. He falls into his own single bed afflicted. Harry’s in the bathroom, probably helping himself. Louis wishes he was there with him.

But honestly, he just wants to crawl under the blankets and suffer in his stupid emotions.

: :

Nothing better comes out of the next day. There’s training at the stadium just a 3 minute walk down the hotel’s promenade. The team is there for 4 hours, a lunch break occurring at midday where Louis finds his own way to a kebab shop. He eats alone. As he should.

He is having down time after running a lap around the 800 metre track, stretching his thighs and taking in deep breaths. Harry’s still pacing himself around the course, eyes never leaving his destination; the finishing line. Louis gazes at him from a distance. He can see the sweat forming on his head and it shines so bright against the day. Harry’s mouth is still the same fleshy pink from last night. 

Absolutely nothing happened last night. Harry got out of the shower, then Louis jumped straight in without exchanging glances. Both of them got a knock upon the door by Coach, who was checking up on them to see how they were going. Both nodded okay to him, Louis from the bed, and Harry in the corridor. He was reluctant to leave them behind, but he eventually left and Harry trotted back to his bed, where he slipped under the covers and fell asleep without a word.

Louis doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he’s sure he’s done nothing. Harry’s just playing the role of who they actually are. They hate each other. They aren’t supposed to talk to each other. They’re just playing pretend.

Louis sees him pass the finish line. Louis hopes that Harry will do the same at the actual event; but 5 minutes before him.

The team collects themselves by the front of the bus in front of the stadium, where Coach announces the rules for their shopping trip. They’re maniacs trying to scramble onto the bus. Louis sits in the same seat he had saved for himself. He’s alone and digging straight into his phone, messaging Niall anything and everything. Anything and everything, but about Harry.

Louis expects that maybe Harry would ask him to wait behind once they’re dismissed from the group at the shopping centre. Harry goes missing instantly, so Louis is left to fend for himself in the heart of the biggest malls in the state. He dawdles along the endless corridors of shops and kiosks, only turning into the fair few which deserved Louis’ attention. He plans to buy new shoes, maybe a pair of sunnies. Something fashionable and trendy. He wonders what Harry’s planning to buy. He wonders if Harry is going to follow up on his words and buy what he wants him to buy.

Louis doesn’t buy a pair of shoes, or sunglasses. He finds himself buying a milkshake. He doesn’t know what went wrong. All he know is that he’s spared the 250 bucks he had specifically kept away for this Interstate competition. He’s not happy with his one and only purchase, but he’s saved from with the guilt of spending too much. 

Hearing the word “let’s head back home” is almost relieving for Louis. His legs are sore and his eyes are lethargic, and all he really wants to do is have a shower before dinner time then knock himself out for a well deserved sleep. The trip back to the hotel is uneventful, and again, him and Harry take separate elevators to their room. Louis arrives before him, so he enters the room and sits down onto his bed, reaching over to find the TV remote to switch it on and break the silence.

Harry enters. The rustle of plastic bags is noisy against Harry’s legs as he walks to his bed. He sets down the bags; there’s plenty. Looks like Harry had a good time.

“Hi,” Harry says from the other side of the bed. “Saw you looking at me on the track today.”

“Your ugly deer galloping technique was hard to miss,” Louis replies, snickering after. Harry frowns at him, reaching into his collection of bags to make even more noise. “New pair of kicks?”

“I wish,” Harry says. “Bought so much shit to hide the fact I bought a packet of condoms.”

So he did buy them, as promised. Louis can’t stop reminding himself that Harry fucks other people too. This box is probably going to be used with future people. Not just him.

“Not that hard to hide, Harold. It’s a packet. Not a bomb.”

Harry rolls his eyes and searches deep into each plastic bag. He eventually pulls out an average sized purple box with XL embossed at the front in gold. He chucks it to Louis, and Louis catches it for proper inspection. Of course the condoms are extra large. Not like Louis didn’t see that coming. 

Harry only tells him, “everything else was too small in size”.

But Louis doesn’t see it as cocky, but as a fact.

“Different flavours too, I realised,” Harry tells him. Not that Louis cares. “Just in case you wanted to try something new.”

He does, and he can’t wait to try them out. He reads the flavours on the back. Tutti frutti, chocolate, vanilla. Harry comes close to him and sits at the edge of his bed. He grins as he whispers over to Louis.

“Personally, I think you’d enjoy the strawberry one.”

Louis smiles from the box to his eyes, shaking the box in his hands and saying, “Personally, I think I’d enjoy it too.” Louis is about to open the box, but Harry questions him with a hand being raised to shut the box’s lid. “What? You said I would enjoy it? I want to try it out.”

“Who said you were sucking my dick now?”

“Who said I was even going to suck your dick in the first place,” Louis backfires, but he closes the box anyway. Harry is bemused. “Seen plenty of people who chew condoms for fun, Harry. Seems perfectly logical for me to try out one of your favourite flavours when you recommend it to me.”

Harry snatches the purple box from him, throwing it over to the plastic bags. It lands in the pile with a gentle crinkle and noticeably causes an indent in the pillowed bags. Louis doesn’t draw his attention to the changed plastic bags, but to Harry’s eyes. They’ve been focused on Harry’s eyes for a while.

“What else did you buy?” Louis asks him.

Harry should be taken aback, but he isn’t. A genuine question. “Nothing really important.” Harry moves his body around, his leg coming up and folding so the knee touches Louis’ thigh. He’s facing directly to Louis, all attention directed to Louis. “A few shirts for me. I got something for my mum, a nice teacup.”

Louis is dazed, for some reason. He takes his hand from his lap and places it on Harry’s knee. 

“Cute,” Louis whispers. “Your mum a fan of teacups?”

“Mum’s always been a fan,” Harry whispers, endearingly. There’s no hesitation for Harry to stand from the bed, walk to his own, and pull out a plain white box. He slides open the tab and flips the lid. He takes out one of the foam moulds that protects the china teacup before revealing the shiny new beauty hidden underneath.  “I told her I’d get her one just for her.

Harry takes it out to show him completely. It’s almost like a mosaic of sunsets but in different patterns. Patterns of curves and lines, all contrasting but beautifully blending together. It’s pretty.

“It’s beautiful,” Louis admits to him. “I’m sure she’ll love it. It’s a really lovely gift.”

Harry smile falls when he places the cup back in its box, hiding it away in its plastic bag. Louis remains on the bed, but sits up with his legs crossed. His running shorts ride up his thighs and expose faded love bites. They’re excused to be stupid running into the side of the table moments. Everyone takes his word for it. Everyone but Harry, who was the idiot who put them there in the first place.

Louis traces the faint bites. He remembers when Harry took him whole with water prickled at his eyes and mouth ruby red around his cock. He remembers when he said he was going to come, hand screwed into Harry’s hair and fiercely pulling at his roots, and Harry had a hand around him and jerked him off fast. His lips were attached to the inside of his trembling thighs and sting upon sting was felt as he bit into his silky skin. Louis could remember the stars he saw in the back of his head. He can remember the way Harry had kissed up his chest and had come at the tip of his tongue before swallowing it. The way Harry kissed him that night was magical. Only last Tuesday, it was. The bites were so severe they lasted a week on his skin. Louis loves the look of them lined up against his tanned body. They are satisfying.

They’re so, so satisfying, but Louis can be sure Harry also gave them to someone else.

Harry catches Louis staring at them, not like Louis was trying to hide the fact that he was admiring them anyhow. “You came hard that night.”

Louis huffs, half humoured. “I know.”

Harry walks in between the two beds, asking to Louis to stand. Louis does. Harry reaches forward to grasp Louis’ hips before stepping towards him and kissing him warmly on the mouth. His large hands sprawl on his waist, and unlike the usual, Louis doesn’t feel himself fall into a million pieces because of Harry’s touch.

He’s touched other people like this. Harry isn’t just his.

“I-I’m…” Louis stammers suddenly, stepping back from Harry without his gaze travelling up from the ground. “I’m going to… I’m going to go shower before dinner.”

And yet, Harry’s not hesitant to say, “Okay.”

Night falls short after showering and dinner. They both sleep in separate beds.

: :

Louis is sitting alone at his table with a continental breakfast in front of him. It’s half eaten. He’s not hungry this morning, but he’s forcing himself. Energy to deal with Harry’s shit is required.

Harry’s across the room feeding his face with an assortment of the hotel’s freshest food. No one should look pretty while eating, and Harry is no exception to that. Louis can’t believe he kissed that face once upon a time, let alone sucked his dick. Louis doesn’t even know why they breathe in a 10 metre radius of one another.

Louis is only a little bit pissed off this cloudy Wednesday morning.

The morning is scheduled to be a slow one. Most students were out of the dining room by 8 in the morning, heading back upstairs for a relaxing two hours break before they head to the stadium for their final training. Tomorrow is the day. It’s the day of the competition. The day Louis will be announced champion and head into the interstate competition. Then into nationals.

Louis knows he’ll win. The confidence is a horrible stench on him that won’t and can’t be rid of.

He leaves his table without any word. He leaves his half full plate of food and takes the elevator to the room. He has the room alone for five minutes until Harry comes in with an aggravated gruff. Louis wants to leave the room. 

Harry sits on his bed, laying back against the head board and messaging God knows who. His eyebrows are furrowed tightly, like the balls of Louis’ fists currently. His eyes are sharp and direct to his phone, and there’s small mutters coming from his mouth that are too inaudible to understand.

It’s too late to turn back, Louis tells himself. He’s just had about enough with this fucker

“You’re literally a piece of shit,” Louis barks at him. Harry looks up from his phone, eyes unapologetic and carefree. Louis absolutely, positively hates him. “Your fucking fault. You said you had set it. You said! Then we fucking wake up fifteen minutes into breakfast. Who fucking knew what we would have woken up to, Harry!”

“The thing is, he didn’t walk in on us. We weren’t doing anything, so besides you being a fucking asshole and overreacting about everything, maybe set the alarm yourself next time!” Harry rebuttals, eyes darting straight to his phone as he texts frantically. 

Louis knows today could have started out far worse than Harry has made it. Harry doesn’t seem to understand that both of them are still hidden from the public, let alone Harry still being in the closet. Harry doesn’t understand that Coach could have caught them in bed this morning, if they had slept together last night. 

Their alarm didn’t end up sounding its horrible marimba tone. Harry had forgotten to set it. Louis knows he’s lying when he said it just didn’t go off. Louis knows that some stupid, faulty mistake would be because of Harry, not an iPhone 6. Louis does not believe him. 

Earlier this morning, fifteen knocks on the door shook through the wood and into the room. Both Louis and Harry were frightened to find the Coach standing in front of their beds after a screech echoed into their ears. It’s how they woke up this morning. Louis swears to God everything could have ended up worse. They could have been fucking, they could have been spooning. They could have been doing anything else but sleeping in their own two beds. How doesn’t Harry see how lucky they really are.

Just... Harry’s a fucking idiot, that’s why. A fucking idiot that… sleeps with other people.

“You’re a moron,” Louis decides to tell him. He walks over to his bed, unmade, and slips under the sheets. They have an hour left of their downtime due to being late to breakfast. Louis doesn’t mind - it’s less time to spend with Harry.

Harry doesn’t respond to him, and Louis thinks that the way it should be, for the rest of their lives.

He gets suited up in his running gear, tying his laces tight before walking out the door in his sport shorts and polyester polo. Harry doesn’t follow him. Instead, he holds up the group an extra five minutes when he comes strolling out of the elevator by himself. He’s late, again, but without a word, Coach leads the students onto the bus to drive to the stadium. 

The moment of arrival Louis focuses on his training. There’s no fun and games today. He stretches his muscles and rehydrates himself before heading onto the track, asking Coach to time his laps as he runs the 800 metre track twice. He paces himself with a beat. The beat he has been training himself on for the past 5 years. He’s finally got the meter. He’s going to fucking win this thing.

Coach is off to pay attention to other competitors in their school team, so Louis is sat on the grass in the middle of the track, stretching his legs once again and calmly intaking breaths as he regains his energy. Lunch seems very tempting right now. The canteen is not too far away. He just doesn’t think it’s necessary to waste time while there’s such little of it left. It’s not worth it when he can make his performance so much better. He will never be perfect. It’ll only be the matter of how close to perfect he can get.

He doesn’t stop training until Coach forces him off the track to have lunch. So he sits alone in the bleachers having a greek salad bought from the stadium’s canteen. From the top of the grandstands, he sees Harry doing bumkick exercises up and down the 100 metre guidelines on the track. Louis doesn’t see how that’s helping anything. All he knows is that Harry is not only an idiot mentally, but also physically.

It’s amusing almost. Louis doesn’t know why he’s so humoured by how much of an idiot he is. There’s never been two words that relate to one another so closely. Not that Louis hadn’t known this before he started to fling with him. Being with him has only proven that Harry is more of a moron. Harry is the guy to ask pointless questions right after you orgasm. 

“Do you think dogs can fall in love... like with other dogs?” He said once, kissing just above Louis’ nipple. “Dogs deserve to. They’re always happy to see humans. They deserve to be happy when they see other dogs, and should get married and such.”

“Do you think when birds... you know... need to go, they wonder if their poop was going to hit a person, or just something different?” He asked another time, purring with Louis lying on his chest. His hand was in Louis’ hair, twisting a strand with a finger. “Or birds would make a game out of it? Ten points to the one that can get the bald guy on the street!”

“You realise that your right hand will never touch your right elbow?” Harry whispered into his ear another time. Louis was used to it now, but he still glares at Harry post orgasm with a disturbed squint. “Well... unless you like break it completely. If you were so caught up with it, maybe you’d break your arm just so it would happen.”

He doesn’t know why he never told Harry to shut up. Harry’s... very interesting. He’s a fucking idiot, but he’s very, very interesting. Louis doesn’t think he’s met a guy like him before - someone who’s doing bumkicks... no, now high knee gallops left to right, on the track. A whole month with him has been terribly, and tragically, fun.

For an entire month, Harry has been his, but he also hasn’t just been his.

Louis doesn’t know what he’s thinking until he actually thinks about it. He definitely doesn’t like Harry. He’s still an enemy. Harry’s just a funny guy. Too funny. Funnier than him. Louis is not jealous that he’s with anyone else, or envious. He’s not jealous of Harry in general. Louis just hates him.

Louis hates him.

He throws out his greek salad, completely free of any edible particle, and heads back to the track. He settles his stomach for ten minutes before stretching his legs once again and picking up on what he has missed with training. He avoids Harry at all costs. He will have to deal with a whole lot of him later, anyway.

Four o’clock their session ends, and Coach calls them all over for a cool down and explanation of tomorrow’s competition. Louis listens in, finding out that their race is the last race of the day, which is similar to that of their normal interhouse competitions at school. Louis is pumped, feeling the confidence hot on his skin. He hopes Harry can feel it burn against his  from where he sits on the other side of the group. He should feel afraid.

They’re back at the hotel by five, and Coach dismisses them all for the rest of the night, dinner being served at the usual time of 7:30 downstairs. Louis and Harry take separate elevators to the room, both arriving at room 408 at the same time. Louis unlocks the door for the both of them and Louis barges forward to make sure he’s first into the room. Harry doesn’t speak a word, or even make a noise, at Louis’ bitterness. He waltzes into the room and ends up on his now made bed. Louis stares at him from the kettle on the kitchen counter.

He makes himself a cup of tea, not bothering to ask Harry if he wants one too. He shouldn’t ask. He’s still angry at him. Harry’s still angry at Louis. Besides, they don’t do favours for each other unless they’re sexual. They aren’t together. Harry fucks other people, and Louis is just… one of those people. He sits by himself on his bed; his side of the room, and sips slowly while watching the TV. It plays a cooking channel, and Louis’ stomach turns with hunger. Or maybe nervousness. He doesn’t see why it would be the second one.


“Don’t,” Louis snaps promptly. “You’re not allowed to call me that.”

Louis’ hands grasp the mug securely, feeling his chest tense as he sees Harry glowering at him from the bed. That’s strange. Louis doesn’t like that expression on his face. It’s not smooth on the usual softened creases on his face. His eyebrows would frown with his mouth, his cheeks would slump like his shoulders. Very strange.

Harry takes in a quick breath. “It’s just a nickname, you know,” Harry tells him. Louis sends a short gruff over the brim of his mug, the irritated breath waving over his hot tea. “I… I always call you it… when we’re alone?”

“That’s different,” Louis says harshly. 

But it is different. When Louis is sucking his cock, Harry is allowed to call him it. When they’re sitting in bed, trying to relax, trying to keep aware of the fact that they actually hate each other, Harry isn’t allowed to call him it. He isn’t allowed to call Louis anything but by his formal first name. 

Harry raises an eyebrow in protest. “It’s not different.”

“Who are you to say that you can call me whatever you like,” Louis attacks, lowering his mug down to his lap and turning his body to direct his words to Harry. “You cannot say shit. I don’t want to be called babe by some dickhead who doesn’t give a shit about me.”

Harry looks taken aback, as he should.

“It’s different because you hate me, Harry. I don’t give that privilege to people, to call me whatever the fuck they want, who hate me. Who care less about me than they do their English homework. Do you think I like being called babe knowing that there’s nothing to it?”

“Fucking Christ, Louis! It’s a nickname, pure British language!” Harry contends. “What the fuck is this privilege bullshit? Like fuck you actually care what anyone calls you. You just apply all these damn rules to me because you think I hate you. Because we’re classed as the rivals of the century. It’s ridiculous!”

Louis swallows thickly, gazing to Harry’s raging eyes darting straight into his. It’s unbelievable, how Harry think it’s perfectly okay to treat him this way. To even think that he can try and be something worth of a precious pink diamond when he’s fucking other people. When Louis isn’t his number one. Where the fuck did these other people come from. Why the fuck did Harry not tell him about these other people. 

“Don’t call me it,” Louis ends. He stands from his bed with his mug of Yorkshire tea, taking it to the sink and tips it out, half full. Louis walks out of Harry’s sight and into the bathroom, where he showers for the next half an hour, sitting on the tiled floor and watching the water spiral down the drain. Louis doesn’t know what to do.

Louis doesn’t see Harry when he comes out of the bathroom an hour after walking away from him. Harry must be at the dining hall early purely to avoid any social contact with Louis. After tomorrow, it’ll be better. They will belittle each other at the starting line, and Louis will shove the finger in his face when he’s awarded first place, and the gateway to the interstate competition over east. 

Louis still doesn’t feel too fantastic.

He remains upstairs for another 35 minutes before heading to the dining hall for dinner. He sits alone at his reserved table for one, taking the banquet meal and feasting into it. A good dinner for a good start tomorrow, hopefully. An early night sleep is on his agenda. He has a plan and strives to follow it. The next 18 hours are critical to his performance for tomorrow afternoon. Louis can’t fuck this up.

He eats and clears his table, walking back to the elevators to head to his room. He changes into something more comfortable and loose; just so his muscles won’t feel so restrained by any tough fabric. He’s in bed, under the duvet and sheets, by 8:15, and it’s when Harry stumbles into the room silently. Louis hears him shut the door and shuffle along the carpeted corridor before making an appearance in the lit room. Louis is glancing at him. Harry is staring right back.

And instead of Harry moving, or Louis moving, they both just stare. 

Louis doesn’t think he’s blinked for the past twenty seconds. Harry is just glaring at him as if there was an octopus plastered to his face. There’s no significant emotion in the staring. It’s a mix of “hey, I’m here” and “I’m wondering how you’re doing”. As well as “I kind of just want to leave right now because I know it’s the best thing to do”.

Louis doesn’t want to keep fucking this up. But Harry has fucked other people.

“Lou… Louis,” and it hurts, almost, that Harry has to correct himself when he knows Louis doesn’t like it. God, Louis loves it so, so much. He wants Harry to call him Lou. He wants Harry just to call him all sorts of things other than dickhead or fuck up just for once. Anything but his name. Louis really is a fuck up. 

“What do you want?” It doesn’t come out as tarty as he’d expected it to. It was fragile. He’s hoping Harry didn’t notice.

Harry steps forward once, but remains still, then says, “Can you please… Can we talk?”

There’s so much hesitation towards his next move. There’s even more hesitation to have his next breath. Louis blinks attentively to Harry, standing from the bed while exhaling the last of his worries. But they only return when he paces forward, getting closer and closer to him. Butterflies fill his already full stomach, and they’re pushing down at the food he had just eaten. Now it feels like beef lasagne is travelling back up his throat to soon come out onto one mushy mess on the floor. 

But Harry’s hands grip at his shoulders. He’s grateful for that. He doesn’t want his touch to be there, but he’s grateful, and it’s there. Not much he can do.

“Why do you want to talk to me,” Louis states coldly. He sees Harry flinch at the tone of his voice. He tries to release most of the tension in his muscles to stop them from sneaking into his words. “I-I… There’s literally nothing to say.”

“There’s everything to say,” Harry retorts.


Harry smiles faintly at that. “I know you’re upset with me--”

“Yeah, no shit,” Louis seethes. Harry’s hands slide down his arms, clutching hard against Louis’ biceps. It’s like Harry’s afraid Louis is going to leave. “Wonder where you got that idea from? That I’m upset! Doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure that out--”

“You’re not upset because of what I did, Louis,” Harry interrupts. “And frankly, I know you’re not upset because of the alarm not going off this morning, either.”

“No, I’m not upset. I’m beyond pissed! Thanks for reminding me!”

“Louis.” Harry’s dead serious in front of him, pupil locked on pupils with mouth flat. Louis doesn’t think his mind is working correctly at this moment. Harry’s hands are hot against his skin, scalding against the skin. It’s very uncomfortable. Louis wants to take another half an hour shower then go to bed. This isn’t healthy for him. It’s not on his schedule. Fuck, he’s fucking up his schedule!

“What do you want from me, Harry?” Louis asks. “What do you seriously want. You know, we have a competition tomorrow. You’re wasting my time to sleep. I need that shit to make sure I’m alright for tomorrow. I suggest you follow the same thing if you want any chance of beating me.”

“Are you jealous?” Harry questions, out of the blue. 

Louis reacts instantly. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Are you jealous, Louis?” He repeats again, firmer. Louis doesn’t react this time. Harry’s still got him dead in the eye. There’s no chance of lying. There’s no chance of ever telling Harry something that is close to the truth. So he shuts up. It’s the most wonderful solution. “Louis, I asked you a damn question. Yes or no, it’s simple. Once you answer, I’ll let you fuck off to bed.”

“You didn’t specify anything. Being jealous of something is a broad topic. Whatever it is, I know I’m not jealous of anything to do with you. That would mean I actually care about you.”

And Louis shouldn’t have kept looking at him straight in the eye, because Harry’s eyes grimace at his words. It’s so, so noticeable. He’s not sure if Harry knew that it was noticeable, but Louis caught it. It’s like the green in his eyes shattered, and the pupils were black holes that lost all power. Harry lost his glow.

But Harry speaks as if the words Louis threw at him were harmless. “A yes or no answer is all I need.”

Louis still doesn’t know what he's on about, and wonders if someone had spiked the apple juice he drinks in the dining hall. He’s acting funny, and not the usual funny self with weird questions post orgasm or stupid puns that can make Louis want to slingshot himself to Mars. It’s disheartening, really, to see Harry so, so serious, and so, so needy for a question to be answered. Just… Louis doesn’t understand the question.

“No,” he answers, out of true hope that Harry will just leave him alone. “I’m not jealous.”

“I’m in love with someone.”

No, do not react. Do not fuckingreact. 

Louis freezes up. His breathing stops as it hitches in his throat. He squeaks, almost inaudible, but Harry catches it. Louis doesn’t dare to blink once. He’s tense, so very tense. His body is rigid in Harry’s hands. His heart pounding hard against his ribs. It’s smacking into his chest. Harry could probably feel it, if he was close enough. But feels stiff. His damn heart. Where on Earth did this come from.

“You’re in love with someone?” 

“No,” Harry says. “I’m not.”

What. “What?”

“Louis.” His name sounds so wholehearted when Harry speaks it. Louis just hates hearing it when they’re within a moment like this. “You can’t tell me that you’re not jealous when you become completely frigid when I said I was in love with someone.”

The little piece of shit. Harry is a bastard. 

“It was unexpected, s’all.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry hisses at him. Louis falls in defeat, but doesn’t let it show. Harry knows he’s jealous, but that’s all that he wanted from Louis. Louis can go to bed now, and maybe wallow in his duvet and suffer because of Harry a bit more. “What makes you think that things have to change when I tell you that I’m sleeping with other people?”

So Harry knows he’s jealous because of that. Harry’s a smart kid. Louis genuinely hates that.

“You literally just… you said it,” Louis tells him. 

“I know, but what makes you think it needs to change? I’m not spending anymore time with them over you. In fact, I’m sure I’ve spent more time with you than I have with them--”

“You’re sleeping with other people, Harry. If you’re doing that, then why am I worth your time? Honestly. I’m your stupid competitor. Rivals of the century.”

Harry knits his eyebrows together. “I-I--”

“You fuck other people that don’t have a reputation on themselves. You meet and then you’re acquaintances, soon to be friends, to probably be best of friends. You and me, we are enemies. No matter what. Why would you just… Why do I bother being a part of your time when there’s other people you’re fucking that are so much better than I am?” Louis agitates. “Come on, Harry, tell me the perfect reason why I should keep doing this with you. Better yet, give me a reason why I should continue arguing with you when I have a fucking competition to win tomorrow!”

“God dammit, Louis,” Harry removes his hands from Louis, sighing out frustratedly and continuing with, “It doesn’t always have to be about the enemies thing. We are playing pretend, to the outside world. We don’t have to do that between ourselves.”

“What if I don’t want to do that between ourselves?” Louis asks him. “I hate change, as much as I hate you. We have been at each other’s throats for so long. I don’t want to change it.”

“Then why are you trying to change what we have now? We are this far. Your changing shit around because you found out that I’m sleeping with other people too.” 

Every time Harry says it, it just kills him in his heart. Louis wants this all to change, and to permanently stay the way it is. He doesn’t want Harry to keep fucking him over if there’s other people in his life that are better than him. Louis will get hurt. Louis is already hurt.

“Just because they’re there, doesn’t mean I can’t put you first, you know.”

He doesn’t know what he’s playing at, or why he’s trying to convince Louis so hard not to change things. Maybe Harry hates change too, but it’s a different kind of change to Louis. He doesn’t want to change what they have now. Enemies with benefits… if you will. But Louis wants it back to the way it was. Where they would just fight, fight, fight without kissing and hand jobs being involved there after. 

Louis clenches his jaw at Harry’s words. “Why would you put me first, in front of everyone?”

“Have you seen you,” Harry says hastily. Louis nods, because yeah, he has. He has to deal with himself 24 hours a day. “You don’t… It’s different in my eyes, Louis.”

Whatever this different is, it’s going to prove that Harry is in fact blind. “Whatever.”

“Stop it,” Harry scolds. His hands slide down Louis’ arms, catching just at Louis’ wrists. “You’re a whole lot different than them. We tease each other, in more ways than one. You stay with me afterwards when you’re at mine. You put up with me and how I just ramble about absolute nonsense, random nonsense.”

“So?” Louis comments. “Doesn’t make me the only person in the world to be able to be like that with you.”

Harry traces the tips of his fingers along the back of Louis’ hands. “You don’t know how much more of a difference it is to know it’s you.”

“Harry, stop.” And he does. “I’m seriously not worth it.”

He glooms at Louis, sighing out all the disappointment he has in his system. “Who are you to say that about yourself?”

“I know it, Harry,” Louis says sternly. “I know it well enough, otherwise I wouldn’t say it. When there’s other people around you that can actually show you off, that can actually smile and say that they had the best shag last night with you, it puts me somewhere where I’m literally not worth it. I can’t do any of that shit with you.”

“I didn’t ask for you to show me off, or to smile and shout to the world that you had the best shag,” Harry says. “I just said that I didn’t want things to change, because I like things the way they are, but you’re making it difficult because you keep thinking you’re not worth my time.”

He doesn’t know why Harry is trying so hard. Does he really not want Louis to leave? What about after the competition, or after school’s over? What is he going to do then? Louis knows he’ll leave then. Why is Harry making it more difficult for himself to try and stick with Louis, when Louis knows he’ll just leave.

“I care about you,” Harry tells him. Louis lowers an eyebrow. “It might not seem like it… But I do care about you. A lot.”

Now Louis thinks Harry is hiding something from him. “Anything else to tell me?”

Harry shifts on his feet, head tilted down to the ground as he stays silent for a few seconds. It’s their faint breathing between them that’s keeping the situation away from awkward. Louis wishes he could read Harry’s mind. Maybe then things would be a lot easier between them.

“Do you want to know what I want to tell you?”

Louis shrugs at him. “What’s stopping you?”

“My reputation,” Harry whispers after a brief pause. “And maybe the fact that you might hate me a bit more.”

“I hate you more than anything else in the world at this very moment,” Louis says confidently. Harry smirks to him. “You don’t have to worry about the hate thing.”

“Right,” Harry affirms. 

They’re standing for another minute without talking. Louis wonders why it’s taking so long for Harry just to talk to him. It’s conspicuous now that Harry’s nervous. Louis really doesn’t see why Harry would be nervous around him. Harry’s more likely to be nervous in a race against Louis than standing in front of Louis wondering if his next few words were going to be alright. And Harry’s never nervous for a race. Who knew they would be in a situation like this. 

“I kind of admire you a bit,” Harry admits softly. His fingers interlock with Louis’ from behind, and Harry squeezes his hands. “A lot, probably. I don’t really know anymore.”

Harry’s not looking at him, but Louis can see the pink of his cheeks flushing at his skin. This is terrible. Harry is terrible. Despite being told upfront that Harry admires him, he still doesn’t know what it means.

“So, what does that mean?” It’s a real question. If Harry wants to get fuck all out of him after finding out that he is jealous of Harry sleeping with other people, Louis can provoke him into what he really means when he says I admire you.

“I didn’t kiss you in the park for no reason, is basically what I mean,” Harry answers. “You’re a little more than kinda hot, kinda cute. You’re just… fun, and serious, and playful, and stupid. You’re all the little things in between, and we talk to each other like trash but I always love it when I can get to talk to you, because… It makes me realise that you notice me a bit.”

Now Louis is confused. “Can you give like a straight forward… like… statement, or something. I’m lost.”

Harry gathers up everything into a bundle and says, “I like you a bit.”

Oh no. He’s hoping Harry wouldn’t say that. Is it a joke? Is Harry just playing? Of course he is. Harry’s his enemy. They’re just fucking. Harry didn’t give a shit about him before so why would he give a shit about him now? Why would Harry like him now? Like… as in… crush? Like… as in… maybe you’re my friend? Maybe he wants them to be friends. 

“What do you mean by… like?” Louis asks.

“What else could I mean?” 

“I-I… I just don’t understand…” Harry’s head shoots up, and he gazes at Louis with worry. “But it’s... you--”

“Don’t put that “you” shit on me again. You don’t need to look at the past. I like you, I just needed to tell you. You don’t need to make anything of it,” Harry hisses.

“You expect me not to make something out of it, after years upon years of hating each other? You tell me you like me after I said a minute before I hated you. You can’t tell me I can’t make something out of it.”

The glimmer of hope in Harry’s eyes disappear. “S-Sorry,” he apologises shyly. “Sorry, I thought… I thought it was the right time to tell you. You asked if there was anything to say… so.”

God fucking dammit. Of all these years of Harry telling him he’s a dickhead, Louis actually believes it now. Louis feels awful. Harry confesses something that was probably deep inside himself for a very long time, and Louis bats it away with a nasty comment as if it was a baseball being thrown by a toddler. 

It really shows how much Louis is trying to push him away, for no good reason.

“H.” Harry’s head’s down again. Louis can’t see those pretty eyes. They’re probably full of despair anyway. Ouch. “Please look at me.”

He does look up. He does anything Louis asks him to. Harry actually listens to him, and he doesn’t even have the heart to listen to Harry’s own words. He’s a careless prick. Double ouch. 

“It’s hard to take in,” Louis whispers sadly, watching Harry blink slowly at him. His eyelashes shadow over his cheeks. Even in the dim room, they’re so prominent casting on his pale skin. Louis has only kissed those cheeks twice. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Harry reassures. “Please don’t feel sorry. I put this all on you without warning. I shouldn’t have. It’s going to make things difficult… I should have known--”

“Shut up.” Louis tightens his hands around Harry’s. Louis speaks through his frown. “I’m an asshole, Harry. You know that well enough. I shouldn’t keep acting like a dick towards you. You deserve more than that. I told you I was right when I said I wasn’t worth your time.”

“You aren’t right,” Harry disputes, again. “For however long you may say that, I’m always going to be against it.”

“Because you like me, you twat. Your brain fucks you over when you fancy someone. I’ve been through that shit.”

Harry giggles at him. It wasn’t supposed to be funny.

 “You’re worth my time, Lou,” Harry finalises. Louis’ mouth quirks into a gentle smile, and he feels their hands come impossibly closer. So do their feet. “Shit, I meant… I meant Louis.”

“Call me, Lou,” Louis says. “I like it when you call me Lou.”

Harry makes a noise in his throat. It sounds annoyed. 

“I might just call you fucking confusing.”

“I know,” Louis snorts. “But you care about me, you deserve the privilege to call me something cute.”

“You’re right when you say it’s cute,” Harry mutters, voice filled with gratitude. Louis feels his face get warm. “Matches you, your personality. Matches your angry mood. Can never take you seriously when you become mad. Your voice gets high and cute. Your eyes light up when you see me in defeat. A lot about you is cute.”

Why is Harry so observant. Why does he know when to say the right words. How long has Harry liked him for to know of so much. How long as Harry been wanting this with him? Does he get hurt when Louis says he hates him? Louis wonders if Harry knows he’s intimidating. He wonders if he knows how much Harry makes him fall weak at the knees. He really, genuinely, wonders if Harry knows more about Louis than Louis knows about himself.

“You’re quite cute yourself,” Louis says back. He has nothing else to say, at the moment. Every word is out of his head. He’s glad he doesn’t have an English exam in the morning.

But something they do have.

“Competition in the morning,” Louis reminds. Harry’s mouth moves shut. He was about to say something. “Hey, what’s up?”

A timid, but sensual, smile appears on Harry’s lips. It’s on border to be a smirk, but the cheekiness of a smirk hidden behind the innocence of Harry’s eyes. He leans forward to kiss Louis on the mouth. It’s a dry kiss. Nothing much of it. He pulls back ever so slightly so the breath between them could escape into the air and not hit the other person’s face. Louis exhales hot air filled with relief and compassion. Harry feels it, despite the space between them, and it swoops him into a state of composure. 

“That was… nice,” Louis confronts. Harry snickers. He kisses Louis again. And again.

“You’re nice,” says Harry, removing his hands from Louis’ and feeling his fingers freeze from the lack of warmth. He places them at Louis’ hips, and the warmth returns again. Louis’ delicate skin is like a fire in the forest. “So, so nice.”

He presses his thumbs into Louis’ hip bones, massaging him gently. Louis hums blithely as Harry pulls them in together. Closer. Louis can feel Harry’s breath on the his sharp cheekbones.

“I want to kiss you until Winter ends.” Harry kisses under the bags of Louis’ eyes, feeling his eyelashes brush the tip of his nose. “Kiss you until you’re out of breath, then asking for more.”

Harry’s hands slide from his hip bones to spread across the small of his back. He pulls Louis even closer. Their thighs are touching. Everything is warm; it’s almost uncomfortable. Harry kisses him dryly again. So, so precious. So, so gentle and romantic. Where has this Harry been? Hidden because Louis hated him? Is this what Louis has been missing out on for the past five years?

He smooths his hands up and down Louis’ back, soothing Louis. Harry’s hands are toasty and careful and large and it makes him feel tingly all over. Harry’s lips are the same, but they’re pink and rosy. Just like his cheeks. Just like his personality. Just Harry.

His heart is smacking against his chest for all the good reasons. There’s a bump of their noses before they’re kissing again, open mouthed and sluggish. It’s a while before Louis’ laziness is kicked out of him and he’s grasping at Harry’s shoulders to stabilise himself. To pull him close, close, close. He might fall over from how ludicrous this night as been. But it’s all real. Very, very real. But Louis wants to kiss him until Winter ends too.

“Everything about you,” Harry starts, mumbling across Louis’ lips. Louis doesn’t restrict himself from Harry. He only wants Harry. He wants to kiss him as much as he can. “Everything about you makes my day.”

He wants Harry to shut up, but then he doesn’t. His stomach is where his heart is and his heart is in his throat. Everything’s flying high, everything’s got butterflies inside them. Louis’ brain is mush. His legs are jelly. His knees might give out if Harry doesn’t shut up.

“Want to put you first for everything,” he whispers, mouth at Louis’ ear as he kisses Louis’ temple. 

“Everything?” Louis asks him, a smirk teetering on his lips as he feels Harry tense up under his touch, pulling back from Louis’ ear.

“Maybe not everything,” Harry says. He knew that would be the answer. It’s a competition for a reason.

Louis sets both of his hands on either cheek of Harry’s face, dragging him down to press mouths together. Harry groans from his throat, hands scratching up under the back of Louis’ shirt. He feels Harry’s hands at his shoulder blades, tips of his fingers sizzling at the bone. It’s like the sun is burning him to a crisp with little pixie touches. Except it’s Harry, and it’s Harry’s large hands and warm soul that feels so, so pleasant on his body. He’s being touched in all the right places. So gently, as if Louis was a prized possession. A fragile antique.

His hands trail down to Harry’s shirt, a tight polo that conforms to his body shape. His nipples show through the shirt, hard but puffy. Louis brushes his fingers past them, and Harry’s breath hitches in his throat. Louis sees the Adam’s apple bob up and down, and Louis wants to suck on it and tease it when Harry’s laying on the bed, naked, with his cock hard against his stomach and leaking. Louis wants him.

“Yeah,” Louis moans to himself, both hands fisting into Harry’s shirt in the middle of his chest. “Yeah, God.”

Harry’s hands sneak from underneath Louis’ shirt, but remain at the hem. Harry tugs on it.

“Please?” Harry asks. Louis releases Harry’s shirt and lifts his arms up, Harry undressing him and throwing the shirt to the carpet. He stares at the sun kissed skin. The Harry-kissed skin. Harry wants to litter it with love bites and streaks of his come. There’s so much he wants to do to Louis.

Louis returns his hands and twists them bound into Harry’s shirt. He pulls them into the wall, Louis slamming his back into the plaster and hearing the hollow sound echo loudly through the room. Both of them shoot their eyes open, realising the hotel walls are thin. They’re vulnerable to being caught.

Harry huffs. “Dammit.”

“Who cares,” Louis whispers to him. “TV’s loud enough. We got it.”

Harry kisses his mouth shut, hands falling to Louis’ hips to hold them still against the wall. He rocks his crotch into him, letting a heavy breath out as he moans hungrily into Louis’ mouth. Louis grins against him, sighing out a “yeah” before jutting his hips up to meet his semi to Harry’s. His eyes screw shut when Harry’s kissing him hot and wet, tongue in mouths as they glide messily. It’s the most genuinely loving kiss they’ve had. Louis is close to becoming addicted to them. 

His nails claw into the middle of Harry’s back as Harry lowers his arm to hold onto Louis’ thigh. He holds it at his hip, fucking up into his crotch and feeling Louis moan breathlessly into his mouth. He feels exposed to Harry. He hasn’t felt this exposed in front of him ever. It feels fantastic. 

“Forgot how good it was,” Louis whispers to Harry. It’s like they’re by the tree all over again. Like they’re feeling each other for the first time, realising what they both wanted. Like they’re exploring each other, recognising what the other liked and disliked. Except, now it’s them. In a hotel room. On a school trip. It shouldn’t arouse Louis this much.

“How good what was?” 

“You,” Louis gasps, Harry’s hand cupping his cock in his shorts. “How good you were, how good this feels. H-How good you make me feel.”

“Always want to make you feel good.” Harry nips at his neck and listens to Louis whimper a pretty “yes” down to him. Harry pushes the heel of his hand into Louis’ crotch, making him cry out quietly as he shoves a hand into Harry’s curly locks. “I like you so much.”

“Want you,” Louis pleads with mercy, tugging Harry by his hair to meet eyes with him. “Want you, want you, want you. I want you.”

Harry grants his wish. He grabs behind his neck, taking them both to Harry’s bed where Harry falls back flat onto the mattress. Louis falls suit between his legs, crawling up to his favourite boy and occupying his pretty mouth with an affectionate kiss. The duvet is ruined by the scrambling involved. Louis just wants to touch him. Harry’s legs curl around Louis’ calves, feet curling into the blankets to stop himself from coming on the spot. Louis finds his hands in Harry’s hair and grinds into him, their cocks lined together underneath their shorts. The friction is unbelievable. It’s like Louis has burst into supernova. 

Harry’s hands are on his arse, under his shorts, again like on the Monday. He knows Louis loves it. As expected, he responds perfectly to it. His hands are spread across his cheeks, fingers close to his rim, and Louis fucks back against them just to feel the tips of Harry’s fingers come closer to his hole. Harry’s never seen him so high on libido. He’s never wanted Louis more.

“Need you,” Louis groans, high pitched. “Want you.”

“Need to get undressed,” Harry mentions, slipping his hands from underneath Louis’ shorts and using his thumbs to pull at the elastic around his waist. He slides the shorts halfway down his bum. Louis sits up on Harry’s hip bones before reaching forward to grab Harry’s shirt, helping the man before him undress. Both of them are topless and hard in their shorts. Louis is quick to go fully nude, comfy shorts dropped on the side of the bed. Harry slips his own off, leaving himself in boxers to tease Louis all the more. Louis straddles his waist, once again, feeling Harry’s clothed cock on his arse as he grinds back against him.

Louis grins, completely stimulated by Harry’s moans. “You like that, sweetheart?”

Harry throws his head back and grips at Louis’ hips, his hands following the fluent rolling of his hips. He feels Louis bounce himself down onto his cock, hard and needy. A hand drift from his waist, gliding across the smooth surface of his abdomen, and grip around Louis’ dick standing tall above Harry’s stomach. He gives a dry, but gentle, stroke. Louis licks at his lips and mewls high into the air.

“H-Harry,” Louis calls, grasping around Harry’s wrists and pulling them from his body, containing them both in the middle of Harry’s torso. “We… We have a competition in the morning.”

“I know,” Harry says. He lifts his body from the bed, Louis unclasping his hands from Harry’s wrists. Harry catches Louis at the small of his back before he fell backwards to the mattress. Louis’ thighs curl around Harry’s waist. Harry has never felt closer to him. “Hi.”

Louis’ face splits into a grin as he giggles. “Hi,” he whispers as he rests his palms on Harry’s shoulders.

“Hi cutie,” Harry says again, hands under Louis’ bare arse. It’s softer than a baby’s. “One day, I want to come over when your mum’s at work, and I want to be able to eat you out for hours.”

“Shit.” Louis feels blessed to have Harry in his life. “I-I’ll put it in my schedule.”

Harry snickers from his throat, attaching his mouth to Louis’ neck and sucking where his Adam’s apple bobs. Louis pulls at the small tufts of Harry’s hair that hang behind his head. He grinds against Harry again, slow but paced motions, as Harry keeps his mouth occupied on Louis’ love bitten skin to stop himself from losing it. He knows well enough that’s a mission in itself.

Louis is squirming on his lap, and it’s too much. Harry shoves him back, Louis spread out in front of him lazily with a dopey smile on his face. Harry stares lovingly at him, admiring the pretty boy relaxed and completely sex dazed. Harry rearranges himself on the bed, now sitting on his calves between Louis’ toned legs. He leans down to kiss Louis’ cock directly on the tip, and Louis grunts weakly and bucks his hips up to hopefully get more contact. No friction is given.

He watches from a low angle as Harry licks his lips, puffy and pink and deliciously wet. Harry’s eyes are shimmering like the night sky outside their window. Harry’s mouth is what Louis thinks men constantly dream of having around their cocks. Louis know believes he’s one of the luckiest men in the world with Harry before him like this. 

There’s a finger that’s timid at Louis’ hole and Harry’s hot breath is hitting his cock. There’s a fat stripe along Louis’ shaft, and the cool air hits the wet stripe. Louis shivers. Harry’s teasing at his rim, flicking up and down softly to try and fit the tip of his finger inside. His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling, as Harry kisses around his cock, leaving imprints of love in the shaven area. Then, there’s a gentle budge of Harry’s finger inside his hole, and Louis clenches up negatively.

“Babe,” Louis seethes harshly. He’s hoping Harry knows what to really do. He trusts that Harry knows what to do. “I-It’s not… Use the--”

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” Harry apologises, stepping from the bed and searching inside his suitcase. He’s quick to return between Louis’ legs with his bottle of lube. He uncaps the bottle, squirting the liquid onto his fingers and bringing them down to Louis’ hole. He strokes his fingers against his hole and delicately tries to slide a digit inside Louis. It’s a struggle. Another squirt of lube is necessary on his fingers before the one fits snug inside. And Louis writhes against him. 

“I’m ‘right,” Louis tells him. Harry drags it out and plummets it back inside. There’s not much from Louis after that. “Feels better with two, love.”

“Can you handle two?” Harry asks with concern. Louis rolls his eyes.

“I’m not a virgin, H,” Louis laughs, hand wrapping around his lonely dick. “If I can handle your shitty attitude, I can certainly handle your cock.”

“Hey,” Harry pouts, giving Louis the second finger - funnily enough, the middle one. “Can just as easily take these fingers of mine out and leave you to your own hard cock to take care of.”

He slides his fingers out and shoves them back in, and Louis’ words struggle to come out. “Who will take care of yours then?” 

“Never mind me,” Harry responds quickly. “It’s all about you.”

Louis thinks Harry might actually kill him before tomorrow comes. 

With double digits in and Louis’ cock being taken care of, Harry manages to undress the rest of his lower half. Louis watches with lusting eyes, breathing shot when Harry’s cock slaps hard against Harry’s stomach. He’ll never get over how big it is, or how he managed to fit the entire thing in his mouth that one night. Aside from having received terribly watery eyes and a painful jaw afterwards, having the treasure in his mouth was worth the while. He feels like a million dollars knowing it’s going to sink inside him any minute. 

Harry closes in with his lips on Louis’ belly again, puckering his mouth up and down his tummy as he scissors his fingers. The encouragement from Louis is outstanding. His cock thinks so too. He fucks him with his fingers relentlessly, thriving off Louis’ moans. Louis’ back is arching from the bed, stomach coming into contact with Harry’s mouth. Harry’s licking where his ribs end, using the opportunity to suck in precious love bites. Real love bites. Louis knows they mean something now when Harry give them to him. He hopes these ones last for months.

He tucks in three when Louis least expects it. Harry sees his eyes are screwed shut, glued together by the empowered lust that fuels his moans and groans and everything in between. He pumps the three into him at random paces, slowly and sensual, then rough and relentless. Harry curls his fingers, brushing against the nub of the nerves. Louis turns wild. Louis hisses through his teeth and his feet dig into the mattress, pulling at the blankets as if he wanted to rip them. Harry stops there.

He dips over Louis’ torso and kisses just above his puffy nipple. He also flicks at it with a small kitten lick, just to be a tease.

“You’re so pretty,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ skin. “Your moans could get me off alone.”

“Weak,” Louis chuffs. Harry bites at his nipple in return.

Harry’s off the bed again to get the box he’d bought the other day for the two of them. He faces back to Louis, seeing him on his back with body looking softer than a baby duckling’s feather in the wind. Harry sends him a sweet smile before returning to the bed.

Harry opens the lid of the box, seeing Louis’ eyes widen with anticipation. It’s happening. 

“You choose, babe,” Harry whispers, showing the options to Louis. Louis immediately chooses the pink one; strawberry. “But you’re not sucking my dick, Lou. Rather a horrible one to fuck with, a good one to taste when you do suck.”

“You said choose one,” he complains, but he puts the pink packet away and replaces it with a brown one. “Chocolate I know for a fact does not taste anything like the good stuff.”

“An excellent choice,” Harry praises, snatching the packet from his hand and closing the condom box and throwing it leftward. 

He rips the metal packaging open with his two hands, sliding the condom on with ease and finding the lube that had gone walk about. Everything’s quick to happen. Harry’s got his cock in his hands, stroking it with lube to cover it evenly over the entire shaft. Louis waits patiently, keeping his hands above his head and letting his cock stay hard against his stomach. He won’t touch it until Harry permits him. He supposes it’s the best he can do for him.

“Tell me if it’s too much, ‘right?” Harry warns him, sitting up from his calves and placing a hand next to Louis’ head to stabilise himself. He’s hovering over Louis’ body with Louis curling his legs around Harry’s waist. He’s so very ready. “You can always tell me to stop.”

Louis doesn’t come back with a “I know” or a “I’m still very much not a virgin, Harry”. He only says a faint “okay”. 

His tip is caught at the rim and Harry prods against it for a bit to watch Louis’ face. He seems alright, so he takes it a step further with a little push. The head goes in, and Louis’ warm, tight heat is phenomenal. Louis whines as he feels Harry glide in, one big inch at a time. The stretch around him burns but the burn is too good and too real. He’s going to feel this for days. And… well, fuck the 5 kilometre cross country tomorrow!

He bottoms out and gasps. He falls straight into Louis’ torso breathes tiredly against his neck. Louis grips at the back of Harry’s neck and curls his nails into his skin. He tries to hold a whine back, but it’s impossible to try when Harry does the first proper thrust into him. Harry’s murmuring little profanities into Louis’ neck, kissing and doing his best not to bite the skin he’s spread love upon. 

Louis feels Harry’s arms curve underneath his shoulders, holding their chests together as they breathe in sync. Harry juts his hips up into him, his cock being engulfed inside Louis. Louis bites at his cheek and claws at Harry’s back as he hammers into him. His legs are spreading wider and wider, letting Harry in further and further and feeling him hit right on the money at the nerves. 

Beads of sweat form at the top of Louis’ head and they run into his damp hair. Everything is hot and sticky and fucking amazing. It smells of sex; intimate sex. It smells like Harry. All his senses double and he feels Harry’s cock slide into him non stop, as if his stamina is never ending. Harry’s low grunts make his stomach bubble, make his cock twitch, make everything feel a million and one times better than it is. And soon, Louis is moaning Harry’s name in time with Harry’s rhythmic thrusts.

He pummels hard into him and it causes Louis to cry out terribly. Harry freezes and glares down to the loud boy, where he finds Louis glaring straight back at him. Both of them stare cautiously and become aware that Louis was definitely too loud for the moan to be considered something different. But Louis begins to laugh, and Harry does too. And Harry fucks into him again and feels Louis scratch down his back, marking his territory. 

His pretty boy has his head arched towards the ceiling with eyelids fluttered shut. They’re trying to open, and Harry can see the lusted darkness that has overtaken the cerulean beauties Louis beholds. His neck is exposed to the air. It’s completely flushed with a bright red, all the way down to the middle of his chest. It’s glistening with sweat and makes it look like Louis is made of porcelain. He feels Louis’ thighs tremble against his waist. Harry knows he’s falling apart under him, with moans left and right and Harry’s name circling around them. He’s close.

“Kiss me, please,” Louis whimpers to him, tugging Harry down for a wet kiss with more tongue than mouths themselves. Their teeth click atrociously and their moans ruins any sort of proper mouth to mouth contact for a long time. There’s no sense of rhythm anymore. Harry’s close, too close, and Louis is whispering words into his ear like a fucking pornstar. Their skins slap together and the noise is just as filthy as Louis’ words. He jumps his hips once more before falling back into Louis’ neck and sucking at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. He groans and comes into the condom, cock hard inside Louis as he humps little circles against him to ride out his orgasm. 

Louis giggles into the air and pets Harry’s damp hair. Harry doesn’t give him time to breathe, a sneaky hand coming to Louis’ cock to wank him off. Louis hisses and concaves into Harry’s body, now drowsily laid on top of Louis’. 

“Lou,” Harry whispers up to him, kissing at the lobe of his ear and laughing lazily. “I hate you.”

“Oh… Jesus,” he wails with a thrust of his own hips, sliding his cock smoothly in Harry’s hand. He creates a high pitched ‘ngh’ before trying to speak again. “I-I… I ha--”

He comes, painting over his stomach and Harry’s so very large hands and feels his eyes roll to the back of his head. He sees stars, or heaven, or something. Something beautiful. Probably Harry. He simpers as he breathes out Harry’s name. Harry kisses his temple. 

A mess is left between their stomachs and Harry slips out of him with little hesitation. He ties it off and throws it out in the bin next to the bedside table. He sits back on the ruined bed, Louis now laying on his stomach, probably cleaning the come that striped up his golden skin. Harry watches him and laughs. 

“Bed might be kind of gross to sleep in,” Harry says to him, voice croaky and worn. “Guess it’s why they gave us two.”

“Hey, at least I won’t be questioned if they asked why there were come stains in your bed,” Louis shrugs, sitting up.  “A little secret wank on a school trip in front of your worst enemy will always be a fun story to tell.”

Harry snickers. “Looks like your bed tomorrow night, then?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Louis grins. 

Both move themselves to Louis’ clean bed, slipping under the covers and feeling themselves mold into each other’s bodies. Louis’ head is tucked into Harry’s chest, with Harry’s mouth resting on Louis’ forehead for an infinite amount of kisses to be placed there. They’re about to fall asleep, but Louis quickly moves again to tangle their legs together and have Harry closer to him. Harry doesn’t mind it one bit.

He hopes that tomorrow will not be a pain in the arse.

: :

It feels like the interhouse competition all over again. 

On his left, there’s a man from a school down south. His black hair is long and there’s facial hair just under his nose. He looks like a young Russell Brand. But he’s not famous, or not going to make Louis weak because of laughs. On his right, the same asshole from over a month ago who fucked him hard last night in the hotel room. Yep, things are certainly different this time. 

He’s hot on his heels, ready to compete. He’s been sitting in the grandstands, watching the other divisions for females and males in the event. Harry and him have kept their distance today; it was a mutual decision that. This morning they woke together in the same bed, in the same position as last night, and spent the time breathing the same air and chatting about nonsense. They woke earlier than the alarm, but were still late to breakfast. They went separately to the dining area, as they have done every mornings, just to make sure there were no speculations thought about or brought up. As promised in his own mind, there was nothing but a simple good morning from Coach. Louis ate his breakfast in peace, with every sip of his orange juice acting as a wash of relief over his tensed body.

They’re upstairs for another hour before being driven to the competition. Nothing much happened but the changing of uniforms and tying of laces. Louis sees the scratches down Harry’s back and giggles at them, walking over to him and kissing the marks just before Harry slips his polo on. Harry says they don’t hurt. He's probably lying.

The trip to the track was lonely. Harry doesn’t message him, but Louis is grateful for that. The nerves were building up slowly, but they weren’t throwing him off the grand prize. He’s sure talking to Harry will just make him more nervous. As much as he’s glad last night happened, he could only wish that it was easier to stay away from him, to not want to talk to him. He never thought it would be so hard trying to stay away from him. It’s strange.

One in the afternoon came fast and Louis was in the stretching field allocated for competitors. Harry and him trained in a far away distance from each other. They’re still playing pretend, and Louis is still very grateful. There’s a bug in his stomach that won’t go away. He tries his best to wash it down with water, to run it out of his system. It doesn’t go away until their division is called to the starting line of the race course.

It’s where he is now.

The gunman is on the far right, talking to one of the judge’s that checking all the numbers on the competitors and finalising the number of people competing for the interstate title. For the 17-18 year old male division, he’s number 28, his favourite number. The sticker on his chest and back makes him feel secure and confident.  He’s so ready for this.

“All good to go here,” the judge shouts from behind. Louis’ heart is thumping in his throat. There’s a white flag high in the air from a distance, another judge who monitors any possible cheaters who may cut the curvy course. There’s a few of them on the track. Louis knows this is a fair game.

“Rightio,” the gunman says, raising his gun into the air to shoot. Everyone’s feet shift on the line, to make sure they can get the best head start possible. Everyone’s ready for it. Louis is ready to beat Harry, to make it into interstate. So ready.

“On your marks,” the gunman shouts, and Louis hears everyone simultaneously breathe in. The air around them is tense and heavy, but Louis knows he can evade through it like a slim fish. “Get set,” and the gunman places a finger on the trigger. Louis can hear the small clicking noise so very clearly. “Go!” and the gun is shot, and the competitors take a leap of faith and jog past the starting line.

The competition for the win has started.

Louis remembers his beat, the beat that he’s been training with. He uses it and paces himself. So far, all 27 competitors are in a linear line across the track, all taking a similar pace to keep their stamina high. Louis doesn’t know if he should power boost himself forward to get ahead. There’s a few people next to him who don’t seem to have a steady pace. He can hear it in their lagged, then speedy, breaths. Louis holds his power boost to himself.

Harry, next to him, keeps up his pace. Louis feels like turning to him and smiling, but he knows that that will somehow diminish his energy. He looks forward and sees the first judge who’s holding the white flag earlier. As soon as the competitors pass him, there’s a major split in the group. Some people are slowing down to the back of the group and Louis knows they were probably chosen just for the sake of their school participating and receiving acknowledgement for trying. Absolute noobs of the real game.

But there are more people who are properly competing than not. Most of them are behind Louis. And… wait, hey. He’s in the lead. Fucking fantastic.

He takes the risk to look back after another 100 metres of running. Behind him there’s a random guy with dirty blonde hair and wearing a teal blue polo. Behind him is Harry, who’s pacing to his beat very nicely. He’s probably singing a nursery rhyme in his head or something. The dopey kid. He wouldn’t be half surprised if he was.

Another judge is at the first kilometre point, and he encourages the competitors to keep going. Louis is still in the lead by about ten minutes, which isn’t enough distance for him to say he’s definitely going to clean up the first prize. For all he knows, the boy behind him might turn into some new Usain Bolt and zoom past him just before they finish the race. Louis has had that done to him too many times before. He’s not going to let it happen today.

Things are peaceful until he hits a sand track; the worst type of track to run on. He steps in the past footsteps of other competitors in the earlier divisions. There, the sand is packed down and easier to run on. Or so he thought. The sand track extends for what seems to be two kilometres, but was only in fact a half of one. When it ends, Louis is forever grateful. He takes the opportunity to look back, and there he sees Harry in second, but quite far away from Louis’ speedy legs. The man in the teal is only a few metres behind Harry.

Louis’ heart is still smacking against his chest. It hasn’t had time to rest, and it won’t until Louis well and truly crosses that final finish line. Louis passes the next judge, who congratulates him for making it past the halfway point. Louis isn’t tired. He can feel his body starting to become very warm though, but he easily subsides the uncomfortable feeling by stopping himself from thinking about it. He jogs a bit faster after he can hear the judge’s voice speaking to someone. It must mean Harry’s close to catching up. Not good.

The next 500 metres is what Louis thinks are the most important. It could determine whether or not Louis will be in the lead for the rest of the race. He doesn’t speed himself to straining point, but he does keep up a relatively faster pace than usual to make sure Harry doesn’t overtake him. Harry’s still behind him, veiling his own steps into the compacted dirt track. Louis can feel him come closer and closer, and Louis doesn’t know how Harry had the energy to keep up, let alone speed up. It’s not like Harry could have taken anything. Harry’s been with him the entire week. What the fuck.

By three kilometres, things slow down. Louis is still in the lead, heart still going strong. Harry is no less than fifteen metres away from Louis. Until the final 500 metres, Louis can’t speed up. He needs to keep this pace otherwise he’ll run out of energy and Harry will take his spot. There seems to be no view of other people close to themselves at this given moment. Louis can’t even hear them. They’re both in a good position right now. Louis wished he was in a better one, further away from Harry.

A judge is between the 3 and the 3.5 mark. There’s a bend in the track. The judge tells them that it’s the final bend before the track is straight, flat dirt until the finish line. Louis could kiss his feet and thank the Lord, but the time for that is sparse. Instead, he throws a thumbs up at him and zooms past him with his little legs. Harry’s still close behind him. Louis takes the chance to widen his span of step, but Harry’s quick to catch up that extra bit of space that Louis was hoping would put Harry further behind.

Close to the 4 kilometre post, and Louis is swearing in his head. He really wants Harry to fuck off. He has never been so determined to win this thing. It’s not even about beating Harry anymore. It’s about winning and heading to interstate. He wants it so bad. Harry’s making it ten times difficult to concentrate on his beat. Harry makes it  difficult to concentrate on anything, really. There’s just never been so much determination to get it. There’s never been so much want. 

It’s like the Angels above have been listening to him, because Harry trips. He trips on the flat dirt and Louis can hear it behind him. It sounds like a car accident. It sounds like Louis’ trophy screaming out to him to come and collect him. It sounds like victory. Until.

“Oh my fu-- Fuck!”

Until he realises Harry’s hurt.

There’s still a good amount of distance, a winning amount of distance, between Louis and the man in the teal shirt. So much distance that Louis can’t even see him. Harry is lying on the ground with grimace contorting his face. He sits up and holds his ankle. He holds it so tightly his knuckles are white. Louis can see it from the ten metres of air that sits between them. Harry’s fine. Harry’s perfectly fine. He’ll get up and keep running. Louis needs to keep running. He needs to win.

“Lou,” Harry shouts to him, a horrible, painful whine in his voice. Holy shit. “Lou, please get help. I’ve… I’ve done something to my ankle.”

Louis completely stops. He stops and turns back to Harry, still on the floor with his hands still bound around his ankle. The man in the teal appears in the distance as a small figure. Louis can still win it.

“How bad is it?” Louis yells. “Can you run on it? Walk on it?”

Harry shakes his head. “I’ve broken it while running before,” Harry tells him. “Back in sophomore year, it happened. It always happens at the worst of times. It was hurting before on the sand track. I think I fucked it up. Just… fucking hell, it’s so painful.”

Oh no. He remembers that. Harry broke his foot just after the sophomore interhouse cross country began. Harry passed out into the concrete flooring because of the pain. He was in hospital for a while with check ups to make sure he didn’t have a concussion. Shit.

He doesn’t want Harry to pass out. “C-Can you try walking, H?”

“Lou, I can’t. I don’t want to make it worse. Please just finish the race and tell them I’m here. I’ll be fine here,” Harry shouts back. Did… Did Harry just tell him to finish the race. “Hurry up, you dickhead! He’s going to catch up if you don’t finish it!”

Louis is frozen on the spot. “H-Harry, I-I--”

“You wanted to win, go finish it!” The man in the teal is closer, much closer. Louis wants to run, but he can’t. Harry’s hurt. Harry might pass out. “Louis!”

A fool he is. A lovesick fool.

He runs to Harry, decreasing the space between them. Harry growls at him when he nears closer, like a deranged dog with its first meal of the week. He tells Louis to piss off and finish the course, but Louis doesn’t listen. He crouches down and puts a hand on Harry’s wrist. He tries to remove Harry’s hard grip around his ankle.

“Louis,” Harry snaps at him, not responding appropriately to Louis. He won’t remove his hand. “Finish the fucking race.”

“Stop it, shut up,” Louis scolds him. “Let me see your foot. What happened. Where did it hurt before, and where did it hurt now?”

“I’m not going to listen to you,” Harry bites. Both of them can hear the footsteps of the man in the teal polo. Louis has fucked this up. Not like he can do much about it now. “Louis, why the fuck-- C’mon, you can still make it. You’ve got your energy back--”

“Harry, stop it,” Louis warns him. Louis grips his wrist and pulls it out of the way, Louis taking Harry’s foot into his own two hands and slipping off his sneaker. He inspects it after tossing the shoe away. He’s had some first aid practice. It was through the school for some community service shit. It’ll help him a bit now. 

The man in the teal passes them both, and Harry is glaring at him with disappointment. Louis couldn’t honestly give two damns, still observing Harry’s foot under the sunlight. There’s nothing much happening, as he can see for now. He doesn’t touch it, he knows Harry will probably pass out if he did so. A low pain tolerance. Harry’s weak, but a cute type of weak. He doesn't like to show it, or for people to worry about it. But Louis worries about it. He cares for Harry.

“Christ, Lou,” Harry complains. It’s not about his foot. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

“Shut up,” he says again. He rests Harry’s ankle across his thighs, still keeping them between his own two hands to see if any swelling develops. He asks Harry if he wants to move in the shade, but Harry doesn’t talk to him. Expected, but not particularly nice. 

Another man passes them both eventually. Louis doesn’t move or even think about moving away from Harry. Harry’s got a blunt expression on his face. He looks helpless. Louis is helpless with him. Until the judges come to the conclusion that two members didn’t finish the race, they’ll find them and get help for Harry. That is if none of the competitors get to the finish line and tell the judges about the two boys on the track on the floor. Louis doesn’t think they care well enough to actually do a kindhearted thing like that.

Three boys out of the 27 are walking side by side on the track. Louis knows they’re the last ones. Louis went from first to last. And… yeah, he's pretty pissed at himself. He’s sure Harry’s more pissed at him. But Louis is just doing what’s best. Harry’s his best. If Harry cares so much about him, then Louis can care so much about Harry too. No matter what Harry says, Louis can do what he wants. He chose to stay with Harry because he chose to, not because he was forced to.

Or maybe he was a little. He didn’t want Harry to be hurt. Knowing Harry could pass out and knock himself silly in the head forced him to stay behind and keep talking to him, making sure he wouldn’t do as so. But he’s glad he stayed. Harry’s alright. Still complaining like a little bitch about his broken foot and how Louis didn’t fucking finish the race, but Harry’s alright.

It’s half an hour since Harry had fallen on the track and help finally comes by. A paramedic has driven on the track in a small ute, Coach and a judge in the same car. When the car approaches, Harry feels the need to push Louis away. They’re playing pretend, but Louis couldn’t give a fuck. He tells Harry it’s okay. Harry’s hurt, it’s okay. It’s normal… possibly. Everyone will be so focused on getting Harry back to normal that no one will care that Louis basically sacrificed his place to go to interstate to make sure his worst enemy is okay.

No one will care… at all.

It’s too late once Louis has properly thought about it. The ute pulls up and the paramedic is out with a first aid kit in her hand. Coach and the judge stand around the two boys, asking Harry questions about the falling over incident and how painful the injury is. After a check up and a few prods here and there, the paramedic inquires that Harry needs to be taken to the hospital for an immediate x-ray. 

“Dammit,” Coach grunts at himself. “Miranda is at the hotel. I still have the kids with me to take back.”

“Harry’s fine with me,” the paramedic says. “You can come by later. I’ll give the nurses permission to let you in when you arrive.”

“Great,” Coach nods. Everything seems sorted, until Louis realises that he’s not going to be able to stay with Harry. Harry’s going to be in the hospital, alone. Louis is going to be in his hotel room. Alone. 

“Can I go with Harry?” Louis asks them. Coach stares at him from above, bewildered. The other two don't seemed fazed by the question at all. “You know, just in case someone wants to know what happened. Harry’s got a bit of history I know about… like--”

“Sure,” the paramedic agrees. “It’ll be good for a friend to come along anyway.”

No one corrects her. No one feels the need to correct her. Except for Coach.

But things go swimmingly. Harry and Louis are on the back trailer of the ute as the other three cram into the front of the ute to drive back to the oval where it all began. Most of their body is hidden save the window that only shows their faces, so no kisses on the drive back. But Louis holds Harry’s hand tightly in his. He hoping to God that Harry doesn’t pass out.

They’re transferred from low class trailer travel to an ambulance. The teammates see Harry going into the ambulance on a fancy stretcher. Louis could assume the younger kids probably think he’s dying. Louis follows Harry and the paramedic into the back of the ambulance. The doors are closed and the drive to the hospital begins. Harry lays flat on the stretcher, once again complaining about his stupid foot. The paramedic only calms him down with little, humorous stories on the way to the ER. 

Harry also calms down when he feels Louis’ hands entwine with his, both hands tangled together on the stretcher. The paramedic doesn’t comment. Louis, therefore, concludes that she doesn’t give two shits.

: :

Harry’s on crutches with a fucking bandage around his foot. 

They’re in their hotel room. Harry was discharged an hour ago from the hospital. It was only a small break in some foot bone thing near the his ankle. But apparently it’s large enough to stop Harry from walking normally. The x-rays were ugly. Just as ugly as the moon boot Harry has to wear when he gets home. 

Louis was with him at the hospital for the entire night. Louis slept on one of the arm chairs with his head on Harry’s hospital bed. Harry had the luxury of actually sleeping in a hospital bed. All in all, Louis thought the past 18 hours were quite unnecessary. Who knew fracturing your foot meant you had to stay in the hospital. It seems as if everyone had overreacted just a bit.

However, it’s Friday morning, and after an eventful 4 days, they’re finally heading home.

The trip home is much different to the trip to the competition. Louis got a seat with Harry in the back of the bus, where a seat was actually turned around so Harry could rest his foot up against it. It scores Louis his own foot rest. He has to thank Harry for that a bit later. Being right at the back meaning no attention was drawn to them unless Louis had laughed really loudly or if Harry complained about his foot. They were free to hold hands, they were free to watch some shitty YouTube video on his phone; that is if the phone service wouldn’t cut out every ten seconds.

They had time to talk about the competition while they sat. No one in the team from Louis’ school actually made it to interstate. Louis would have been the only one if he didn’t stay back for Harry. He thinks Harry’s actually going to strangle him when Harry comes over for his usual fuck about on the Friday’s. That is if Harry can even make it over to his house with his stupid moon boot.

Arriving back in their hometown is such a relief. Louis hugs his mum and kisses her cheek good day. He hasn’t told her the bad news yet. He plans to do so over a nice home cooked dinner. It’s not like she’ll be too upset with him. He did it out of good will. He helped his worst enemy. Love thy neighbour as you love thyself. 

He gets home, away from Harry. Louis feels like he can take a deep breath and sink into a beanbag and live there for the rest of his life. So he does as so, but he’s bored and itchy for activity after 10 minutes. So he messages Harry. 

hows your moot boot xxx

The x’s are a thing. It certainly doesn’t mean anything.

moon boot* you twit. and it is fantastic. very comfy. could make it into a new fashion statement. xx

i stand by what i said. moot boots could be a new icon. i could imagine seeing them on the runway. if flare jeans could make it, i’m sure the boots could too xxx

He drifts into his bedroom. He’s finds himself sorting out the clothes in his suitcase that were worn and not used during the trip, piling them up so some can be washed and some can be put away. While doing so, he keeps messaging Harry.

i think the best thing about them is the amount of noise it makes. i’m going to struggle walking around the house at night trying not to wake everyone up. xxx

He could imagine that. Harry’s already got an elephant walk down the stairs. It’s only going to be worse, if not, his house could experience a magnitude 3 earthquake just from Harry’s heffalump stomps.

walking around the house at night?? why’s that?? planning to sneak out and visit me? ;))) xx

Not that Louis is thinking about that… or anything.

well, midnight snacks are a thing for me. xx

i know that well enough!!! i was wondering where half of my nacho doritos went after you came over that one night xxx

shut up they’re the best. i haven’t had them in years. xx

Louis takes note of that. He also plans to hide any sort of Doritos away from Harry before he comes over again.

and don’t wish for something. you just might get it ;) x

He didn’t wish say he wished for it in the text. But he wishes for it now. Dammit, it’s been an hour since he and Harry left each other on the bus back from the competition, and Louis wants to see him again.

i want it :( xx

He really, really does. 

unless you bring me doritos i’m not going to grant your wish. xx

excuse me ?? me bring you doritos ?? who said i was going to your house. x

well, if you didn’t fucking know, louis tomlindick, i have a fucking moot boot on my foot foot and i can’t really walk or drive to your place. xx

Louis snorts a laugh. He swears moot boot is going to haunt them both. 

better get something for my effort to come visit you. xx

;-)))) xxx

Louis ends it at that, and finishes his sorting of clothes before he finds more clothes to stuff into his backpack. He heads downstairs to see his mum in the kitchen, popping into the cupboard to find a packet of Doritos for Harry. As promised. His mum looks at him, demanding an explanation.

“I’m going to see Harry.” She’s not baffled by that, for some reason. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Niall’s coming over,” she tells him. “He wanted to see you. I was going to leave it as a surprise for dinner, but--”

“I’ll call him,” Louis says. He needs to tell Niall about Harry anyway. “I haven’t spoken to him in a few days anyway. I’ll call him, play a game of footy with him or summat.”

She sends him off with an all okay. Louis picks up his car keys and drives himself to Harry’s in under ten minutes. He parks on the curb on the other side of the street, text messaging Harry after turning the ignition off. It’s obvious Harry didn’t expect him to actually visit.

mum’s probably going to shoot me when she comes home, you know. xx

Well, oops.

i’m sneaking in. make some room. xx

He goes through the back gate, despite Harry messaging him five times that the front door is in fact open and that there is no need to break in through Harry’s window. But it’s for future reference anyway. It’s not like Louis isn’t going to be sneaking in a lot more often. He creeps into the backyard and finds Harry’s bedroom window, knocking on it like a lonely cat in the rain. Harry shouts from inside “it’s open!” and Louis jimmies it open with two hands and slips inside after doing expert level yoga body twists to fit through the window.

First thing he sees is Harry lying on the bed with that dumb boot on. He’s shirtless with sweatpants on. His torso is fucking gorgeous, but the boot definitely kills the look.

“Is everything in your house always open?” Is the first thing Louis says to him. Harry chuckles, ditching one of his throw pillows at him.  Louis has no idea why Harry has so many of these. “I bought you a packet of your favourite things in the world, apart from me, of course.”

Louis walks to the bed and sits on the edge. He takes out the packet from his bag, handing them to Harry as the greedy boy hugs the packet tightly, popping it open. The nacho smell fills the air in front of them, and Harry moans hungrily. 

“Right, so it seems that you’re more interested in making love to a chip packet than paying attention to me, I might piss off!” Louis teases, but Harry’s got him around the waist with two arms, the chip packet to the side and no longer being attended to. Louis grins before glaring back to the boy clinging onto him for dear life. “You’re useless.”

“Excuse me,” Harry says with much offence. “I wasn’t very useless Wednesday night.”

“Could have easily made myself come that hard with porn,” Louis dismisses. Harry pouts disapprovingly at him, and Louis only laughs. “C’mon now, you know I’m a big, fat, ugly liar. You’re the best.”

“You’re right about being ugly.”

Louis squints at him, grasping at Harry’s hands to remove them from around his waist. They don’t deserve to be there. 

“I come over in my free time to be bullied,” Louis frowns sarcastically. He falls down into the mattress, lying symmetrical to Harry. “Who would have thunk it would have come from you.”

Harry grins at him, bringing a hand down to Louis’ hip and pulling him in closer. Their legs are touching, thighs pressed together, and Louis feels that stupid boot on Harry’s foot weighing down the bed. He begins to giggle. 

“Stop laughing at my boot.”

Louis shoots his eyes open and stammers, “I-I would never!”

Harry kisses his mouth shut. A gentle kiss. One where they savour each other’s mouths for a long time and stroke each other’s cheekbones with a graze by the thumbs. Maybe one of those “hello, I’ve kind of missed you” kisses. But it’s much more than that. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s more than that.

They open their eyes together, and Louis can see pure bliss in Harry’s. 

“I feel like I should say I hate you just because it feels a lot more natural than saying I like you,” Louis whispers after a short amount of silence. Harry’s lips quirk into a smile, brushing his thumb over the fullness of Louis’ lips. “You realise it’s been basically an hour and a half since we last saw each other.”

“I was lonely,” Harry whispers back. “And I missed you.”

Louis kisses him again. “You just wanted someone to come over and tease you about your moot boot.”

“Stop calling it a moot boot,” Harry criticises with a roll of his eyes. He searches for Louis’ hands and holds them once he finds them. He laces them together. He comes close to Louis again, pressing their noses together as they breathe the same air. “You better get used to sneaking out a bit.”

“Why sneak out?” Louis asks him, his voice lowering into a very quiet whisper, as if he doesn’t know what to say next. “We don’t have to hide ourselves anymore.”

“You don’t,” Harry says. “I do. I-I’m still in the closet.”

Right. He forgot about that. “If you’re ready, come out,” Louis advises. “You don’t even have to come out. Us being in public doesn’t need an explanation. Heck, us even being in public together doesn’t make sense in itself.”

He doesn’t know why he’s even planning this in the first place. He was the one that didn’t want to be in public with Harry because of the confusion. Now, he’s the one telling him that even though nothing will make sense, he wants to be able to be with Harry in public. They’re not even together to be considered an item.

Louis just… Louis just wants to be his. Louis doesn’t want Harry fucking anyone else. Or noticing anyone else. It doesn’t have to be his his. Louis just wants to be the apple of Harry’s eye. 

“I’ll think about it,” Harry says to him. Louis understands completely. “Don’t think I don’t want to be with you, Lou. I just think it’s better if we stayed a secret a bit longer.”

Louis hums into their breathing space. “Yeah, honestly, I like it a bit better like this.”

“Same,” Harry smiles to him. It’s that little smile, that sensitive smile, that Louis recognises as something he doesn’t show to anyone else but Louis. “No one else in the world knows about you and me, except for you and me. And you’re my little secret.”

He’s forgotten about the butterflies Harry gives him.

“My little secret,” Louis repeats, nuzzling his nose into Harry’s. He sneaks in closer, head now tucked into his chest. Louis kisses where Harry’s beating heart lies. “I swear to God, Styles. You’re going to make me fall harder for you than you did on the dirt.”

Harry grumbles and kicks at Louis’ shin with his stupid giant boot. “I actually hate you so much.”

“Yep,” Louis whispers lightly, a laugh high in his throat. “Sure you do.”