Bloodsport

chapter 27

Knowing how well he slept in Louis’ bed in comparison to his own made it that much harder to stay at home every night. Being well aware that Louis actually allowed him to come over made it so simple. Several nights a week over the next month, Harry snuck out of his room, jogged to Louis’ house, and traipsed upstairs to his room. He would slide underneath the covers, breathe in the scent, and fall asleep within moments.

“See you tonight,” said Louis one early Tuesday morning, before he attempted to slam the front door shut in front of Harry’s nose. Harry hadn’t asked to come over that night, and upon hearing Louis say it, as though it had become an ordinary habit, Harry felt his stomach drop completely. His foot moved out and stopped the door from closing.

Louis glanced up at him through his fringe, eyes squinted like he wondered what it was now. “Styles.”

Harry had to keep his fingers from sliding into the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck. It would’ve been so easy, bringing Louis’ face to his and lightly pushing their lips together. Louis would’ve exhaled and his stomach would have slotted perfectly against Harry’s.

Kissing Louis was consistently effortless. It was amazing, actually. Louis was good at it. He knew where to put his hands, where to place them on Harry’s shoulders, on his back, his face, and especially in his hair. He knew when teeth were welcomed and when to let his lips do it all for him. Harry melted each time Louis gave into his desires, but when Louis made the first move… There was just something about the way Louis looked when he initiated any kind of sweetness. Every time he wanted Harry, every time he asked for it. It was revitalising.

Their gaze broke as Harry looked down. He wanted to kiss him, but didn’t dare do it. They didn’t usually kiss when sex wasn’t expected, especially not on Louis’ porch.

“See you later,” Harry whispered, biting his lip as he turned. He couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder when he didn’t hear the door close. Doing so, he once again met Louis’ fixed stare. “Bye,” mouthed Harry, and the little, little smile that snuck onto Louis’ face before he shut the door made Harry’s whole body leap on the inside.

For a second, he wondered if he had imagined it. He couldn’t believe that Louis was aiming that wildly and breathlessly attractive, mischievous smile his way. Walking home he couldn’t control the erratic flutter in the middle of his chest.

Every day, Louis was giving him more and more reasons not to end it. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether he was just waiting for disaster, as Zayn had implied. How could so much have changed in just a few months? He used to detest Louis Tomlinson. The guy used to drive him insane. Now, Harry couldn’t stop hoping that he would kiss him, at any given moment.

In the middle of January, Coach Abrahams tugged Harry aside during football practice. It was raining, and Harry was watching the way Louis’ fringe kept sticking to his eyebrows as the group of lads was passing balls in triangles.

“Styles, I’m talking to you.”

“Oh.” He startled, slightly embarrassed. The bleachers were empty, as none of the students had braved the rain to watch the team practice after school, and Harry followed Coach into the substitute cubicle next to the pitch, brushing waterdrops off his face. Coach sat down and Harry placed himself by his side. Coach Abrahams was holding an iPad, and was scrolling through some kind of folder. He went on until Harry noticed his own name on the top of a page.

“So,” said Coach as the smatter of rain atop the cubicle made its presence obvious. “How do you feel today? All good?”

“Pretty good, I suppose.” His parents had fought that morning, and his mum had asked him if he’d been out late the night before, but other than that, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “You?” he asked.