Brother's Best Friend || l.s.

chapter 11

Harry discerned, quite easily, that he really hated Zayn. It wasn't just a mild hatred that would appease and pass within a few days of forgive & forget, no: it went to the dire lengths of Harry being pretty certain he could commit a murder if Zayn continued. No matter how super mega hot Zayn was - undeniably so - he was so severely cocky and obnoxious that this surpassed his looks.

Yes, Harry was very, very mad. Seething, almost.

Obviously Louis was at blame too; he shouldn't have told Zayn in the first place. That infuriated Harry as well, the fact Louis thought it was okay to do so just because Harry was so lovely and shy, too shy to stick up for himself and ask Louis what the hell he was playing at for telling Zayn. Although he seemed regretful enough for his mistake, stomping on Zayn's foot and shooting Harry that apologetic, sorrowful gaze as he left, it wasn't enough.

When Harry finally arrived home, he was met by the quotidian sound of Anne and Robin in the middle of a dispute, somewhere upstairs. He pointedly sighed, dropping his backpack carelessly by his discarded trainers before trudging off into the living room. His sister Gemma was curled up on the sofa in there, a hardback book balanced on her knee with an open bottle of nail polish atop of it, as though she was performing some sort of balancing act. Most of her attention focused on streaking the red polish onto her fingernails, occasionally flicking her gaze up to watch the reality TV show on the screen.

"Afternoon, Harry." She addressed, seeming to know it was him in the doorway without looking. "Where were you the last couple of nights?"

Wow, somebody actually noticed Harry's absence. Usually it'd go unnoticed, they would all assume he was cooped up in his room like a social recluse. Especially his parents, who only seemed to notice him when something needed doing in the house: Take the bins out. Can you wash those dishes up, please? The vacuum cleaner is on the landing, can you run it through the living room, darling? Thanks.

"Liam's." Harry muttered, falling back onto the other end of the sofa, so Gemma's nail polish bottle almost toppled over completely.

She hummed in attempted interest, but she hadn't even looked Harry's way yet. Clearly both the appearance of her nails and the tasteless programme on the television were far more important than giving her younger brother proper attention.

"Where's mum?" He questioned. He already knew the answer: she was upstairs, arguing with Robin over something stupid. He just wanted it confirmed, his sibling to confide in whilst the shouting continued, but that wasn't a luxury he had. He was closer to Liam and Niall than he was to his own family.

"Upstairs. Arguing. Again." She robotically stated, as though it had become routinely. It was almost scripted now, considering their arguing took place on a daily basis now. But a divorce? Not yet.

"Gem?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?"

She screwed the lid back onto her nail polish, admiring her work before setting it down onto the floor, along with the book. She seemed suddenly more intrigued as to what he had to say, probably hoping she'd hear some new gossip to latch onto, but Harry just really wanted a heart-to-heart. He took a deep breath, arching his legs in front of him and hugging his knees.

"I have a crush on somebody."

Gemma's nose wrinkled up in fondness, eyes sparkling as she beamed at her younger brother.