Bloodsport

chapter 38

For the next few weeks, he imagined himself living in London. He imagined training at Chelsea, playing matches at Stamford Bridge, going out in London to celebrate victories in Mayfair or Soho. In London, there were gay bars. However, in London, he’d still be a football player. In England. Icing on the cake.
Nevertheless, each day he stepped out onto the pitch at practice, he wondered what it would be like at the training grounds down south. When he researched strength and flexibility exercises in his free time, he imagined the luxury of having a team physician, nutritionists, and personalised training regimes. Then he’d look at the boys on the pitch and know that even though they didn’t always get along, he might miss them.

After the weekend of his birthday, he stopped lying about where he went at night. He told his mother he’d be staying the night at Louis’, his boyfriend’s house. She didn’t object, because it meant discussing the fact that he was a homosexual man who slept next to another homosexual man at night.

Well. Harry still had no idea what Louis preferred to call himself. Was he gay? At least interested in men. Bisexual? Was he interested in girls, still? Harry had no idea. It wasn’t like Louis was willing to go into it. He wasn’t even mildly open to discussing it. Harry had tried to pry it out of him once, but was silenced with a look that told him he’d be out the front door if he said another word. Harry was much too inclined to stay in Louis’ bed to push it.

February was… weird. Harry nearly slept more in Louis’ bed than anywhere else. Louis was warm and didn’t complain about the pillows anymore. Harry could take his pick. Harry pretended it didn’t make his stomach flutter when Louis wrapped his arm around him in bed before they fell asleep. He knew Louis would pretend it’d never happened the next morning. Still, Harry sensed a change. Not between them only, but in Louis.

Since their talk about Niall, Harry began noticing it. He was usually so wrapped up in avoiding Jasmine and hoping to see Louis in the open spaces at school that he hadn’t actually understood that Louis was more often apart from his best mate than with him. One day at school, Harry noticed Niall, blond and loudly laughing, standing in the corner of the cafeteria. Louis sat at a table, next to Liam and Sophia, pointedly not looking at his friend. Harry remembered the look on Louis’ face when they’d briefly talked about it. Louis had said that he was pushing Niall away because he was seeing Harry and refusing to share it. It looked like Niall wasn’t having it.

A part of Harry felt guilty, for being the living problem between them. Another part of him didn’t feel remorseful at all. Louis Tomlinson was… special. He was special to Harry. He was slowly becoming (or had become already) a fixture in his life. Louis still had uncontrolled (or savagely controlled) messy hair. His eyes were still remarkably blue. His skin was vaguely tan even though they hadn’t yet crossed into spring from winter. Strangely, when Harry looked at him, though, he didn’t see annoying nagging, and didn’t prepare himself to be chewed out. He saw comfort. And pleasure.

Had Louis changed? Or had Harry just opened his eyes?

Just about living at Louis’ place, Harry realised more things. He realised that Louis’ sister, Lottie — or Charlotte — had a best friend called Alice. Harry could hear her through the wall, chatting on the phone about her new boyfriend, Martin. Lottie was loud, spoke sharply, and even though he barely saw her, it was like living with a neighbour who’d tell you her whole life. Albeit unintentionally. Harry didn’t great about accidentally eavesdropping, but he did enjoy finding out things about Louis he wouldn’t otherwise have known.

On the phone, Lottie mentioned her sister. Fizzy. Harry hadn’t really considered Louis having four sisters much. Harry basically lived door-to-door with Lottie, and he’d understood the young twins he’d seen at the match one time lived at Louis’ father’s house. He guessed Fizzy also did. Louis didn’t mention her. He also never mentioned his father. Not a single cell in Harry’s body dared to ask him about it.