Bloodsport

chapter 62

On Saturday night, Harry spent two hours drinking beers in Zayn’s bedroom. He’d had three days to process Louis’ words.
I trusted you with me.

When they’d had sex, he figured. When they had sex on the purple rug, like they’d never done it before. When everything was perfect, when there were no misunderstandings, and Jasmine was a faded torment Harry could push off into the distance.

Louis wasn’t wrong. They did need to sort their shit out. However, Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to talk it out, and he knew he’d never forgive her. At the very least, the overwhelming fear that Louis was into her — or Greg for that matter — had been annihilated by Louis’ words. He believed him, was the thing. The look in Louis’ blue, blue eyes, the tremor in his voice as he said don’t think for a second that I would hurt you like that… It was pure and honest.

The last couple of days of the school week, Harry didn’t know what to do when he saw Louis. He had no idea of what to say. So, he did nothing, meanwhile, Louis also did nothing.

“You should just talk to him,” said Zayn, nursing his beer with one hand and cradling his PlayStation joystick with the other. The game was paused, but Harry’s eyes still remained on the screen.

“And say what? I’m sorry, I thought you cheated on me? It doesn’t change anything.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not about that. Not really.”

“What’s it about now, then? I don’t get it. Is it about you going to United? Or, is it about you guys being in love with each other and being too dumb to do anything about it, or what…?”

Liam had asked the same thing, in other words. What was the issue here, really? The problem, deep down, wasn’t Jasmine, or United. Harry knew that on some level. They were pieces of the puzzle, but the main issue was that Harry was in love with Louis, and Louis… Harry had no idea what he was thinking. If Louis was in love with him, where was his mind in all of this? What kept him away? Was it actually United?

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” said Harry. He finished his fourth beer of the night. “I never do. He thinks so much and says so little. It’s like… guessing and gambling. I didn’t used to care what he thought when I did things, and I didn’t use to overthink stuff before I did them. Now, it’s like, all I do is think. And all I care about is what he’s thinking.”

Zayn turned around where he was sitting on the floor, and craned his head up to stare at Harry, who sat on the bed against the wall, as usual. “Mate. Just stop fucking thinking. Go to his house, and say whatever the fuck you want. You’ll feel better.” Harry pondered it. Zayn stood and began tugging at his arms, pulling him off the bed. “Get up.”

“Zayn…”

“Just do it. Here.” He handed him another beer. “Drink this, and then go to his house.”

Harry didn’t know why, but he took the beer and drained it in a couple of minutes’ silence.

“Well done. Now get the fuck out of here.” Zayn pushed at Harry until he was downstairs. Then he grabbed Harry’s jacket and began dressing him as he clumsily slid into his sneakers. Zayn grinned and pushed him out of the house, waving as Harry fumbled to stand upright on the grass lawn. “Call me after.”

“After what?” he huffed, fixing his clothes and pushing his curls out of his face.

“After you make up, twat. You can tell me how the sex was.”

“Ugh.”

“Bye, Harry.” He closed the door.

He was left in the front yard, sighing heavily. Even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, he started walking. Louis’ house was on the way home, anyhow. His steps were a little uncoordinated as he went, the fifth beer really starting to sink in after a few minutes.