Bloodsport

chapter 48

The rest of that week felt rough. He went home each day, plastered a smile on his face, and pretended not to hear his parents bicker in the kitchen. Every day they seemed to get a little further back to normal, which meant their fights would become less and less concealed.
Then, Harry went to Louis’, painted a grin on his face, and pretended it didn’t break him that Louis wasn’t fully and completely his. That it didn’t hurt him when Louis hugged him in bed because he couldn’t whisper against his skin how breathtakingly gorgeous and marvellous he was, and how much he loved him.

Harry went to school, to football practice, forced discomfort off his face, and pretended in front of Coach that Chelsea football academy still was something he really, really wanted.

He wanted to get away from Doncaster. He didn’t want to get away from Louis. Harry wanted to escape his parents, but he didn’t want to end up too far away from Louis. He wanted to play at Stamford Bridge, but he most of all wanted to play at Old Trafford. Harry wanted to wear a blue jersey and have personal trainers and nutritionists, but he most of all wanted to wear red and spend the next years of his life at Manchester United’s football academy, and he wanted Louis to play there with him.

Despite the overwhelming thoughts of the future, the days kept coming, and not once did Manchester United express any sort of news regarding their stance on Harry joining them.

“Don’t they want me?” he asked Coach after a training session. He was starting to feel desperate. “I mean, I’ve done really well lately. The team is doing great.”

Coach smiled at him, and Harry thought he spotted sympathy in his eyes. “You still set on United, eh?”

“Well, I’m obviously into Chelsea if United don’t want me, but…”

“But you want United,” sighed Coach. “All young lads from Donny do.”

Harry aimed him with as hard of a stare as he dared. “Coach. Please. I’m so thankful for all the work you’ve done with Chelsea, but my dream —”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, Harry. I was a dreamer once, too. I promise the moment I hear anything I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you.”

Coach winked at him. Harry was just as confused by uncleared future paths as he’d been before.

It was April, and months had passed since his birthday dinner. His mother had started talking to him again, and his father was returning to his business dinners and the golf course. They were starting to return to normal, which was both a relief and uncomfortable. It meant his parents were fighting again, openly. It was as though the Harry problem fizzling out allowed them to go back to their old ways.

Evenings when Louis was busy with work, or his mum was home for the night, Harry found himself staring at the ceiling, headphones on, trying to block out the feeling of claustrophobia his house exuded. It didn’t help that mother was trying to be a better mum again.

“Why don’t you stay home for dinner?” she’d ask. “Why don’t you come out and get pizza with us after practice? Tea and biscuits after school?” There was always something, and Harry battled with the piece of him that wanted to bury himself in his mother’s love and the piece that knew it would never again feel like it once had. There was something in the way and he doubted it’d ever move.

He texted Louis to come over one afternoon after footie practice. Staring at his homework, trying to watch tv-shows, or read books — nothing seemed to distract him like Louis.

He was sitting on the bed, curled up against the headboard, when Louis barged in.

“You never told me you have a fucking cat, you know?” He immediately slumped down on the bed, caramel hair uncombed and unruly.