You've Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes)

Chapter 8

November twilight over Hampstead Heath comes slow and steady, a pink hue over the inlet. The walking path near Harry's house is covered in red, orange and yellow leaves, crunching underfoot as they walk in silence. It's beautiful, but Harry is distracted. Instead of admiring the sunset, he's checking his phone every five seconds for something from Louis. He's been doing this for the last few days since he sent the foreboding but incredibly necessary text the morning after the Halloween party. We should probably talk, he said. That was almost a week ago, and still no reply. Complete radio silence. Nothing.

"Expecting a call from someone?" Gemma asks, a coy smile on her face. Her hands are in her jacket pockets, and her dark hair is pulled back out of her face. It's pretty chilly out, and her breaths come out in a visible fog.

"What? Oh, no." Harry looks up from his empty lock screen, discouraged. "Not exactly." He shoves his phone in his pocket, determined not to look for at least another few minutes.

"You know, there's this little feature that means your phone makes a sound if you've got a message," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "So you don't have to check your phone every second." She smiles, giving her brother a gentle nudge. "It's genius, really."

"Alright, alright, I get it," Harry laughs, self-deprecatingly. His cheeks go pink, heating up with embarrassment. "M'bein' rude."

"Nah, you're not. You're just a bit spacey. You okay, little brother?" she asks, softer.

"Yeah. Things are just... weird right now."

"Let me guess, a special someone who's name starts with 'L'?"

Harry huffs a laugh. "Yeah, with Louis."

"Go on, spit it out."

He mulls it over. Where does he even begin? Does it start with the video? Does it start with the kiss in the pool house? Or was it well before that? The more he thinks about it, the more he believes Louis has been on his mind for a lot longer than he realised.

With the Halloween party still fresh in his mind, Harry has spent many a restless night reliving the kiss. What it could mean. What will happen now because of it. He loves Gemma, he does, but there are some things you simply cannot discuss with your older sister. This is one of them.

"I guess I'm just not sure where I stand with him," he decides, keeping it vague. They've approached the lake, and the setting sun reflects on the surface like a mirror. Up ahead, a rickety park bench, covered in damp leaves, is their unspoken destination.

"Where is it you want to stand with him?" she asks, eyebrow quirked. She reaches the seat first, and taking one hand out of her pocket, uses the cuff of her jacket to push the muck off.

Harry pouts, helping her. "I don't know."

"I think you do." Gemma stands straight, admiring her handiwork. Then she turns and sits down on the bench, smiling contentedly out at the view.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry asks, frowning deeply. He hates how painfully observant she can be. Sometimes, his sister (and mother) know him better than he knows himself.

Gemma smiles, pats the spare space next to her for Harry to join her. He does.

"Do you remember when you first met Louis?"

"Yes," Harry answers as if that's obvious. He couldn't forget even if he tried.

"You fancied him so much, it was so obvious. A bit embarrassing to watch, actually." Gemma lets out a laugh.

"Shut up." Harry blushes, not sure where Gemma is going with this.

"Mum and I just had to keep our mouths shut and let you figure it out," Gemma muses, a wistful look of the past in her eyes. Harry groans, looking away. "I think the thing we noticed most, was how happy you were. You were always an extroverted kid, mind, and bloody boisterous when you wanted to be." Gemma fake shudders and Harry gives her a playful jab. "But it was different with Louis. You got... weirdly shy. And quiet. You used to go all red whenever we mentioned him."