Bloodsport

chapter 18

Harry’s legs were sluggish and his whole body felt spent as he walked home. Louis hadn’t come out of the shower, and Harry had gotten dressed and left. The walk home wasn’t far, but his mind was occupied with all kinds of thoughts.
The first thing was the dread of going home. He didn’t know what awaited him there, but his phone had several missed calls from both of his parents. He wasn’t ready to talk about it, but there was nowhere else he could go. He tried to slow down the walk further by prolonging the route, zig-zagging between streets.

The second thing on his mind was the memories of the shower. The intensity and the intimacy burned still on his skin. They had crossed some lines they hadn’t before, obviously, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. Most probably it meant nothing, and Harry was dramatically overthinking it. Louis wouldn’t switch up his act in school the slightest bit, and neither would Harry.

However, the third thing he was pondering as he strolled at the pace of a snail, was the very faintest of brushes of Louis’ lips against his own. It had been swift, but nonetheless there. After all this time, they’d actually never kissed, and honestly, Harry hadn’t had any desire to. What was the point of kissing when the feeling of two bodies moving in rapid connection was mind-fuckingly fantastic? It would only slow down movements and interrupt the feeling of excruciatingly good bliss. So, how come the slightest of touches was now replaying itself in his mind then? He could still feel Louis’ fringe tickling his forehead.

Today had been different. That was clear.

The fourth thing that swam around his mind was the fact that Louis had let him into his home at all. They hadn’t talked in at least a week, and they weren’t friends. The opposite, frankly. But it seemed Louis did have some decency in him after all. And, by the way, had he actually asked if Harry was okay?

Eventually, Harry had to make it back home. He walked up the driveway regretfully, dread heavy as lead within. He knew what the story would be. Apologies from his mum, silence from his dad. Harry closed the front door behind him, kicked off his sneakers, and started for the staircase. Perhaps he could just slip into his room unnoticed.

“Hey.” He was stopped by the sound of his father’s voice. He looked up, finding his dad leaning against in doorway between the sitting room and kitchen. He looked sad, the lines on his face clearer, his brows pulled down into his eyes.

“Hi,” replied Harry quietly. He wondered if he’d be yelled at for leaving, or if his mum was about to jump out and start her usual dramatics.

His dad’s voice was nothing but calm, though. “Where did you go off to?”

“A friend’s.”

“Zayn?”

Sure. “Yeah.”

“That’s good. I’m happy you’ve got friends.”

About one.

Harry’s father looked down at the floor. “Your mother’s staying with her friend, too. Until tomorrow, or the day after. Just so you know.”

Harry shrugged. “Sure… Goodnight, Dad.”

“Night, son.”

His father disappeared back into the kitchen, and Harry’s legs made their own way to his room and turned him in under the covers of the bed.

On Monday, Harry drove to school with a weird feeling in his gut. He hadn’t needed to rush to get out of the house before his parents appeared because his dad had already left for work and his mum obviously wasn’t home. He’d managed to eat proper breakfast and actually get dressed in clothes that weren’t training sweats and a hoodie. It was odd that his parents were worse than ever, yet he suddenly felt like he had a chance to breathe. With them both gone he didn’t need to tiptoe around the house. He didn’t like to be left alone, but it seemed to be a better alternative. It felt wrong, but he was glad his mother wasn’t home. Yesterday’s events still scorched like a branding steer each time he allowed his thoughts to venture there. He was lucky there were other fresh memories at play.
Of Louis, naturally. When wasn’t he thinking about him?