Bloodsport

chapter 66

It was a Thursday evening in May. It was kind of late, but still warm. It wasn’t dark yet, but any time that hour the sun would be setting. Harry hadn’t seen Louis since the match.
Walking up to his house, he felt a weird sense of relief. He didn’t know if his body had been conditioned to feel it; arriving at Louis’ place had been a reward made of comfort for months on end. Still, this time, he knew the feeling wouldn’t last long.

He tried to steel himself, and prepare for every outcome. Even if Louis didn’t reciprocate his feelings, he would at least know. If Louis never found out, all that Harry had felt over the last year would’ve been for nothing, and Harry refused to believe all that pain had no meaning. More importantly, Louis would know how much Harry actually was in his corner, and how much all of his warm gestures meant to him.

It meant the world. What Louis had given him was the greatest gift anyone would ever be able to give.

Nearing the house, Harry reminded himself of Louis’ asking eyes in the bathroom of the pizza parlour when he’d blatantly begged Harry to tell him what was happening. He had been confused. At the very least, Harry knew his own side of what had happened. He had to be honest, tell him the truth. He had to say it to his face and see it sink into his head.

Liam was right. Harry couldn’t bear the thought of Louis never knowing how much he loved him. He couldn’t leave Doncaster without telling him, and without hearing his response. It would tear him to pieces, not knowing Louis’ complete and whole truth.

Arriving, knowing what was about to happen, felt nearly as good as it was nerve-wracking. It was frightening, but Harry needed this. He had wondered for too long. Everything had hurt for too long.

He stopped on the pavement and didn’t walk up to the porch. It felt weird to see the house from a distance, knowing he’d spent so much time there, but also knowing he might never set foot in it again. It felt like the end of something sweet. He wretchedly hoped it wasn’t.

Louis sat on the porch, just like he’d expected him to come. His knees were pulled to his chest, and his hands were resting in his caramel hair. The light was on inside, but out there, there was only looming darkness, faded lamplight, and Harry and Louis.

“Hi,” said Harry.

It wasn’t loud, but enough for Louis to pick his head up. Harry’s heart began pounding as he met his gaze across the distance. His cheeks felt weirdly warm. He never really blushed, but if he was going to, then this moment seemed fitting. Louis wore sweats and a t-shirt. He looked pretty — beautiful — but very, very sad. The image felt deeply discomforting.

“Gotta’ admit my timing’s good.” Harry squeezed the words out, aiming for casual. He couldn’t bear the pain in Louis’ eyes.

“Not really,” he replied, and his voice was low, the corners of his mouth already pointing down in small, sombre arcs.

Harry forced himself to keep going. “Maybe not then.” He shrugged, even though the moment was nothing close to laidback. His heart thrummed painfully. Louis watched him for a second before he finally mustered up a tiny smile, but it wasn’t happy. It was a stretch of muscles.

Harry inhaled, but his breath shook. He had to do this. He’d be better off afterward. In a few minutes, they might be in each other’s arms. Fuck. Why was it so hard to speak?

He reeled in all the courage he had, and began slowly. He wondered if Louis could hear the tremors in his voice as he spoke of a moment he’d considered about a million times. “Remember how you said that you trusted yourself with me? I know that you’ve been trying to talk to me about… us? I’m sorry that I haven’t been very… erm, accommodating. Just… sorry.”