Bloodsport

Chapter 10.2

Louis Tomlinson had always made a big deal of Harry's birthday. Harry didn't usually like it, but this year he counted on it. He was in the need of a distraction. One time, Louis had made a cake of crème fraiche and shaving foam, and tricked him into eating it. Another year, he'd spent a full week harassing him, or "preparing him for the rest of his life as a seventeen-year-old". It was never poorly done, the footie team tended to join the fray, and it was the one time each year Louis' hatred for him didn't feel entirely loveless. There was effort there.

Harry didn't want to spend his birthday worrying about the family dinner, or about his mother's behaviour. It was painful as it was, waiting and waiting to see whether she'd burst out into a chaotic mess and kick him out of the house, or take him in his arms and tell him she still loved him. Neither of those options had happened, and it was exhausting.

"She'll talk to you soon," said Zayn the day before Harry's birthday. "Just give her time."

Harry tried to accept it, but being inside his house with his mother spinning around in a frenzied haze was becoming too much.

The night before his birthday, he asked his father if he could sleep at Zayn's.

His dad squinted at him. "Zayn, eh?"

"Yes, Dad. I promise."

It was a lie, but his father waved him off anyway. Harry jogged over to Louis' house in a hurry, sank into his bed, and wrapped his arms around Louis' chest.

"Stop it." He grunted, but didn't move. "Disgusting."

Harry breathed in his hair. "You love it. I know that."

"You're conceited."

"I'm just calling it as it is."

Louis' body was warm and soft. The room was dark. It had become easy to slip in and out of it. He knew where the creaky step on the stairs was, and he knew where to find the light switch on the wall by the door. He knew where the bathroom was, and he knew exactly which pillow Louis would allow him.

"Can I have your pillow tonight?"

"They are both my pillows."

"Yours is fluffier."

Louis made an unintelligible noise. It took a full minute before he ripped the one below Harry's head out from under him, and replaced it with the one Harry wanted. He smiled into the darkness, getting comfortable again. When he closed his eyes, he placed his hand on Louis' waist.

"Off," he growled.

Harry hitched a laugh against the pillow, but complied. "Tomorrow."

"Whatever."

Harry smiled, still. Even though Louis could be an unbearable arsehole, at night Harry had never been so grateful for anyone.

He woke up to the sound of raindrops against the window. It was February first, his nineteenth birthday.

When Gemma had lived at home, Harry always looked forward to it. His mother would bake a cake, and stride into his bedroom in the morning, singing "Happy Birthday" in a key Harry's sister and father could barely keep up with. The year before last, he'd spent his birthday with Jasmine. She'd presented him with a cupcake at his locker, and then kissed his nose, leaving a mark of red lipstick on his skin. A month or so later, Harry realised that he didn't want her to do that anymore. The memory made him shiver. He could still feel her scent of grapefruit body mist, simply ruminating.

Louis was warm against him in the bed, though. He was shirtless, pressed against Harry's side. Heavy with sleep, and smelling heavenly like last night's shower. Harry inhaled him instead, sufficiently demolishing the memories of Jasmine for the time being. He wondered what the day would bring. He pressed two fingers to Louis' shoulder, watching the way his index finger looked against his body. School, and the attention his birthday would probably grant him, was something he greatly undesired. He closed his eyes, trying to stay in the now, where he could swim in the feeling of Louis right beside him.