Bloodsport

chapter 50

After practice, Harry went home, showered, and momentarily contemplated asking his parents to watch the semi-final that Sunday. Louis’ words of advice echoed in his mind, but he felt resistance battle his small set of encouraged thoughts. What if they simply said no? Or what if they said maybe, and then didn’t show? Perhaps he was better off not knowing the result. Maybe it was better to protect his heart from further injury.

As he met his mum in the kitchen, he contemplated asking her one more time.

“What’s up, dear?” she asked, looking up from her iPad where she leaned against the worktop. She wore jeans and a black blouse, and dark curls framed her face delicately. Harry looked down at his feet, realising the two of them had dressed very similarly. He also wore light blue jeans, fashioned with a black t-shirt and sneakers. He held on to his navy hoodie, fingers cramping around the material at his stomach.

“Um, I’m staying with Louis this weekend.”

“Oh?” She didn’t look horror-stricken, or repulsed by the idea. She looked composed, like she didn’t mind it so much. Harry hoped that was what she felt. “I hope I’ll see you Sunday evening then, before bedtime.”

It was the perfect opportunity to tell her about the match, and ask her to come.

“Me, too,” he mumbled instead, grabbed his bag off the floor, and strode out into the living room, through the hallway, and out the front door.

In the car, he wondered if he’d done the right thing or not. By the time he reached Louis’ house, he still didn’t know.

He parked on the street in front, grabbed his bag, and trudged up the small path to Louis’ stone porch. Someone had planted a purple flower in a huge pot that hadn’t been there the other day, but Harry kind of liked the colour. He knocked on the door and waited a good three minutes before it swung open.

There, he stood. In black shorts and a white t-shirt. He wore sports socks, and his hair looked damp from his shower still.

“You could just walk in, you know,” he said. “We’re alone.”

A smile started to grow on Harry’s lips. “We’re alone,” he repeated slowly.

Louis rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, too, as he turned around and walked into the house. “Don’t get any ideas now.”

Harry closed the door behind him and stepped out of his shoes. He left them on the doormat, knowing there was no need to hide them tonight. “I’ve always got ideas. Thought you knew that by now.”

“I’m well aware. That’s why I said it.”

“But now I can’t think of anything other than those ideas.” He followed Louis into the living room, watched him fall down on the worn leather sofa, and decided to follow his lead. He crammed himself in between him and the back of it.

“Feeling right at home, aren’t you,” huffed Louis, grabbing Harry’s arm not to fall over the edge.

He felt Louis’ shoulder press uncomfortably against his cheek, but could only delight in the position he found himself in. Louis smelled great, as per usual. “You invited me, remember?”

“Did I say you could steal my spot on the sofa?”

Harry looked at Louis’ jaw as he spoke. “You never complain when I touch you…”

Louis was quiet for a moment. “No,” he said thoughtfully, and it sounded as if he agreed.

Harry’s face shaped into a smile on its own accord, and his hand moved to Louis’ hip. Ever so lightly, he let them sneak under the hem of his shirt, touching the skin underneath, following the line of his trousers until he reached the middle. He felt Louis’ stomach move underneath his fingers. There, below his belly button, the small hairs were soft. He didn’t move as Harry’s fingers tenderly ran over his skin, the hairs gently folding underneath as they went.