"Motherfucker!" Louis yells, eyes popping in front of his mirror the morning after Harry's Sunday visit. "Fuck," he hisses, leaning in and examining his neck that's littered with purplish bruises. It looks like he's been fucking assaulted, beaten up with a baseball bat by someone who kept aiming specifically for his neck.

Louis growls while stomping towards his dresser and starting to vehemently dig through his drawers.

Fucking Harry. The bastard. That motherfucking bastard! This was so his intention. He is a monster. Fucking rude. And evil. He's an evil monster who snuck his way into Louis' shower and probably used the moment to avenge whatever it was that made him mad at Louis in the first place last week. Louis cannot believe he fucking swallowed for him.

Motherfucker.

He finds the shirt he's looking for, holding it up before him in front of the mirror. He doesn't even know why he owns the shirt. He shakes his head grimly, mentally sending daggers across the block. He is going to murder Harry at practice.

**

"Why do you look like a complete twat?"

Louis whips around in a full-body movement where he's just sat down next to Niall in the library. "What?" he hisses. "It's a turtleneck. Have you never seen one before?"

"Yeah... just not on you." He eyes Louis up and down.

"Well, it's cold, okay?"

"It's not that cold."

Louis glances up, giving him a silencing look. Would he just let it slide, alright? Louis is not doing this by free will. Harry's stupid fucking love bites are covering his entire neck. This is his fault. Louis doesn't care about the reason why he came to his house yesterday in the first place – which was very, very strange and Louis shall ignore it forever, along with the fact that Harry licked Louis' cum off his fucking stomach – the only thing he cares about is planning out in perfect detail how he's going to kick his ass.

"Stop watching me," Louis says, feeling Niall's eyes on him.

"I just can't really... comprehend this."

"It's cold. Okay? Let it go."

Niall sighs next to him. "Fine. You still look like a twat, though." There's a shutter sound coming from his right. "And this will also not be forgotten, ever."

Louis is going to kill Harry.

They try to study after that. Louis still hasn't finished his English assignment and he's already gotten two new projects to start on today in other classes. He really should try to get more revising into his schedule, which is rather full. He needs to return his maths homework tomorrow and he hasn't even started yet. He's also got the late shift at the fro-yo shop, and that's not helping him in the slightest. He needs to get this finished.

"Hey," Niall says after a couple of minutes of silence. "We haven't hung out in a while. Like, outside of school, properly."

That's another thing. Niall has somehow become subordinate to everything else, and Louis feels terrible. There's just so much stuff he's got to do and neglecting his best friend is the last thing Louis wanted, but it has just happened to turn out that way.

"I'm really sorry, mate," Louis says sincerely. "I've been so busy lately." He's got no good excuse.

"I know," Niall says easily. He slaps a hand on his upper arm, squeezing. "It's okay. I just miss you, Lou."

"Aw, Niall," Louis jokes, but says earnestly, "I miss you too, mate."

"Good," his friend grins. "Then how about Friday, I come over and we'll have pizza with Lottie and watch movies like we used to, yeah?" He smirks. "And then I'll talk to my contact and set us up with the nice little lady Mary."

Louis shakes his head, smiling fondly. "I don't smoke pot, Niall. You know that."

He rolls his eyes. "Right, Tommo."

"That was before the season started. I can't do drugs. I need to keep in shape in every way." He taps his temple lightly.

"And now the footy season has ended," Niall replies with a sweeping gesture of his hand. "Come on, it's nearly holidays soon and matches don't start up until, like, March again. You deserve a break." Louis looks at him for a second. Niall bumps his shoulder with his. "I can get your favorite brand of gin too..."

Louis breaks into a smile. "Fine, you dick. Just not in the house. My mother has a nose like a hound. She could tell if we'd smoked a normal cig hours earlier."

"I know. That's why we'll do it in my car." He winks exaggeratedly, and Louis shakes his head fondly, resuming his studying.

**

Come football practice, Louis has had enough. The collar is chafing, he has to use full-body movements so the bloody hickeys won't sneak into view, and he looks absolutely ridiculous. He pulled his hair upwards into a quiff this morning, and he feels too proper, like some rich Ralph Lauren type who wipes off his Ray Bans with fifty-pound notes.

He stalks into the locker room, just having realized that he'll have to keep the polo shirt on beneath his training jacket because it doesn't cover enough of his neck. He's one of the first people in the locker room and he quickly changes into his football kit, jogging out onto the pitch, leaving his bag on the damp grass and begins to run laps around the field.

The shirt absolutely sucks to work out in. It keeps hitching up his hips so he has to frequently pull it down, and it itches terribly against his warm skin. There's a thought, he's going to skin Harry alive!

Finally, when Harry and the rest of the boys reach the pitch, Louis stalks over, demanding a captains-only meeting. Harry rolls his eyes as Louis sends the other boys to warm up before he grabs Harry by his jacket and pulls him to the corner of the pitch.

"What now?" Harry sighs.

"What do you mean 'what'?" Louis hisses, aiming a punch at his the chest. Harry recoils, just barely avoiding the hit and he makes an indignant noise. Louis scowls, zipping down his jacket and grabbing his collar to pull it down.

Harry's eyes lock on his throat and the expression on his face instantly turns smug. He reaches his hand out to Louis' neck, fingertips light against the purplish bruises. He's admiring his work Louis realizes, and he slaps his hand off.

"You're such a dick. Do you understand what a burden this has been all day? See, this is why we don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Kiss and... stuff! You can't be trusted! I should've realized the moment you started with that in the shower that you were going to do something stupid. What if somebody sees it?"

"Maybe I wanted to mark you up?" Harry says calmly.

"Oh, okay! Hmm, I feel like I want to run you over with a car... so, should I just get on with it then? Huh?" Louis shakes his head in exasperation. "I was nice to you yesterday, and yet you avenged me by printing your fucking teeth into my skin. You ungrateful fuck, I swallowed for you!"

"I know," Harry says, eyes sparkling. "It was ridiculously hot." His hand comes up, reaching out to touch Louis' throat once again. Louis takes a step back, giving him a warning look.

"You're unbelievable."

"What is unbelievable is how many times you've pulled me aside at footie to chew me out."

Louis squints. "If you didn't constantly make me want to kill you, I wouldn't have to."

"I think you like it." He smirks, eyes blinking innocently at him.

Louis is going to burst. "I do not– What the fuck are you doing?!"

Harry's hand has slipped onto his lower back, and he's stepped up to stand flush against Louis – in public. He's looking down at him, biting his bottom lip, and no, no, no. Louis pushes him off, horrified.

"Harry!" he hisses angrily, and with a smacking sound he slaps Harry's arm down that's extracted towards his chest.

"You look so hot in that polo. Your cheekbones... When you speak it almost looks like when you sucked me off." He's coming up close again and Louis puts a hard hand against his chest, keeping him away.

"Do you want to get caught or something? Do you have a death wish? Because if you expose us I will make sure you're in your grave before you're nineteen."

"How many times have you promised to be the one to end my days? I think I'd rather die in –"

"Hi, Louis!"

Harry stops in the middle of his sentence, eyes flashing as he looks up. Louis turns around, noticing the girl who has a tendency to randomly greet him behind them.

"Oh, Harry," she says. "I didn't you know you two were friends..." She ticks her head to the side.

Louis drops his hand from Harry's chest immediately, taking a step back. "We're not."

"Why don't you fuck off, Jasmine." Harry's voice is cold and his face is harder than Louis' ever seen it. Not even when he punched Louis square in the face that time before summer quite measures up.

"Wow, friendly," she says, raising her brows. She crosses her arms, and Louis frowns. And wait, her name is Jasmine? Wow, Louis was way off on that one.

"You don't deserve friendly. You're horrible person."

"Harry!" Louis gasps, shocked. Harry usually seems so nice to people, Louis himself excluded. He's always been unusually respectful towards women; this is definitely out of character. Jasmine has been nothing but friendly to Louis and she doesn't deserve such words from Harry, who is being an idiot.

However, nobody says anything, tension thick.

"Anyway," Louis tries, attempting to divert the awkward tension that's more than confusing. "What are you doing here?" he asks the girl amicably.

"I saw you over here, so I thought I'd stop by and say hi," she smiles.

"Oh." Louis smiles back.

"Well, he doesn't have time to talk," Harry interjects sharply, grabbing Louis' jacket. "We've got practice."

Louis pushes Harry's hand off. "Rude."

"She doesn't deserve more than."

"You shouldn't talk to me that way," she says, eyes hard, while Louis feels completely out of element. "You should know better, Harry."

"You're literally the scum of earth," Harry retorts, shaking his head, turning and walking away.

Louis cannot believe this. He sees how Jasmine bites her lip, and this time he's the one to grab Harry's jacket, pulling him backwards. Before he can say a word, though, Harry's hands are connecting with his chest and he's sent tumbling back onto the grass. Furious, Louis rips off the ground, apologizing to Jasmine in a haste before stalking after Harry, who is clearly absolutely insane.

"What is your problem?!" he exclaims.

The only answer he gets is a V from Harry's fingers, and then he's disappeared towards the locker rooms.

Louis gives up. He has no idea why, but Harry is an unstable wreck. He doesn't understand where these violent outbursts come from. All he can think is that Harry just abandoned practice and is seriously bipolar, and he clearly has some problem with Jasmine.

Louis doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but he is sure as hell not going to pretend to be some shrink and figure it out. He's got enough trouble on his shoulders as it is, he doesn't need any more. Harry can figure out his mess by himself.

Louis goes back to practice and the lads who've finished their warm ups, and luckily Louis' already run a few laps around the pitch. He begins practice, starting with a few defense exercises. He can't help it, though, if the picture of Harry's wet eyes from the day before pops into his head more than once.

**

It's morning, but it might as well be night. It's dark outside, most houses are unlit, and the ground is somewhat frozen. It has yet to actually snow this winter, although it never really does. When Louis was a kid, all he ever wished for on Christmas and his birthday was real, proper snow. He got it one year too, of course that was also the week his grandmother passed away, so it kind of put a damper on the whole snow thing. He wonders if there will be any this year.

It's early Tuesday morning, and Louis is out on his morning run. He hasn't been doing it for a while since his sleeping schedule hasn't been stellar lately and he's too tired to get up early enough in the morning. It's quite windy, and his old windbreaker doesn't help much. He's jogging the track through the park, planning on taking the circuit around the blocks on his way back instead of crossing the dewy grass behind the oak trees like he usually does.

He's listening to music, but the pumping bass has been pushed to the back of his head by wandering thoughts. Usually running keeps him in check, helps him think about everything else than stuff, but today it's not working.

Christmas is coming up soon. Louis has his eye on a few gifts for his family, now that he has a little more money to spend. That's probably the only good thing about Christmas this year. The celebration won't be the same. It was the first thing he thought about when he learned about the divorce. What is going to happen at Christmas? His birthday? He knows Mum and Mark have made up plans for this year, but there's this thing wrenching in his gut. It's not fine.

He jogs onto the sidewalk, glancing at the clock on his wrist. He's been out a bit too long he realizes – the way through the blocks taking a bit longer than the normal circuit – and he figures he'll take a shortcut, turning right and onto a familiar street. He's a little more than a mile from his house, but if he pushes he could probably make it back in less than five minutes.

He picks up his pace and a hundred yards onto the street he realizes that, yep, this is definitely Harry's street, and he'll pass his house in a minute or so. He mentally sighs, forcing himself to keep running. He shuts out his thoughts, focusing on the music in his headphones. He can't help but notice Harry's car in the driveway though, or that the lamp in his room is lit. He's probably just waking up, getting himself ready for school...

Louis shakes his head. Keep running, Tommo.

By the time he makes it home he's sweating, forehead hot beneath his fringe. It hasn't gotten any lighter outside than when he left, although it is December, and it feels like it's getting darker and darker each morning.

He takes a two-minute breather and unties his beaten jogging shoes before he goes inside. He wipes his brow on his sleeve, throwing his shoes to the side just inside by the door, closing it behind him. He pulls off his jacket, about to run up the stairs to take a shower, when he hears his mother's voice in the kitchen. She didn't have a shift last night so it shouldn't be weird, but Lottie isn't up yet and the tone of her voice rains over him like a bucket of ice water.

"Mark," she sighs. "Please."

Louis holds his breath where he stands by the stairs, gripping the hand railing tightly.

"Will she talk to me at least? ... Ask her again. It's... It's been four weeks, Mark." Her voice is low, ending in a whisper. Louis' chest is heaving again, and he shuts his eyes, inhaling through his nose.

"Just... Okay ... Tell her I love her?"

Louis can't stand it.

"I miss her."

He darts up the stairs and slams the door to his room, jumping into the shower without turning on the heat.

He gets ready quicker than normal, rushing through his usual morning rituals, not bothering to get his hair done. He just wants to get out of the house. He throws on a pair is skinny, black jeans, a soft grey/black jumper with a few white splatters on, and leaving his room and goes to knock obnoxiously on Lottie's door. She opens it, eyebrows arched.

Thankfully, she is finished so he grabs her arm, rushing them down the stairs. She complains about his hurry, groaning that she hasn't even brushed her teeth yet. While she does that, Louis sneaks into the hall, internally begging his mother won't hear him. He slips his shoes on and grabs the car keys from the little blue bowl, walking quickly towards the front door.

"Oh, honey! You're leaving already?"

Fuck. He turns around, smiling weakly.

"Don't you want any breakfast?"

"No, I'm good. I'll just grab something from the cafeteria. Lunch's third period already, so," he assures her quickly, praying she won't bring it up.

"Okay." She gives him a small smile, reaching out to stroke his cheek. She looks hesitant then and Louis knows it's coming. "I spoke to Mark on the phone this morning. He wondered –"

Louis steps back, her hand falling towards the floor. "It's not the same, Mum. It's not the same." He backs away, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "Lottie! We're leaving!"

"Honey!" Jay says, lips tilting down. "You and Fizzy –"

He gives her a hard stare, silencing her. "It's not the same," he forces out, words firm. In fact, there's a huge, flaming difference that makes him so nauseas at the bare thought of it that he feels like he's going to be sick. He turns on his heel just as Lottie comes out of the bathroom.

He rushes out the door and to the car. He gets in, putting the key into the ignition, shutting his eyes for just a second. When Lottie finally opens the passenger door, she gets in silently, placing her bag in her lap.

"Don't say anything," Louis whispers.

"I won't."

They drive to school in complete silence. After Louis' dropped his sister off he makes a U-turn, driving into the city instead of toward the direction of the school. He opens his phone, texting Harry.

Congratulations sweetcheeks. You get practice all to yourself today

He arrives at the fro-yo shop just past eight. Greg is there, just having opened up the place it seems.

"Hey, man," he greets, and Louis nods while walking in behind the counter. "What are you doing here?"

"Skipping. Please, let me do something. I'm –"

"Bad day? Already?"

"Yeah," he nods, hoping Greg won't ask. Thankfully, he doesn't.

"Well, you can start by refilling the soft ice cream machine. It ran out last night, didn't it?"

Right. It did. "Okay," he breathes. "Thanks, Greg."

The older man squeezes his arm, smiling warmly. "No worries, love. Anything for you." He winks, and Louis rolls his eyes, cracking a smile despite his efforts.

"Told you," Greg singsongs. "Can't resist the GJ charm!"

**

By the time Louis makes it home, he's got several missed calls and texts on his phone. He's had it shut off for the entire day, not wanting to hear from anyone. Greg was amazing all day, distracting him with lame dance moves and singing in a weird falsetto, and he didn't ask once about Louis' bad mood. Louis spent the day goofing around, letting himself forget about the troubles just for once. He does feel a bit anxious about skipping practice and Coach will most certainly have a talk with him tomorrow, but he'll make it up to the team somehow.

The first text message is from Harry, only displaying several question marks. It's quite on point, considering Louis' not missed a practice session all season. There are a few from Niall and one from Liam, too. The next one is from his mum, asking if he's okay and telling him that she's sorry. He knows she's at the hospital right now, but he sends her a thumbs-up emoji anyways, knowing she'll check her phone as soon as she's on break. He absolutely despises fighting with her, and he doesn't want her to think he's pissed at her. He's not, but it's just – never mind.

He takes off his shoes, leaving them by the door and goes to his room, preparing to go to bed and hide underneath the covers and pretend to be asleep so that Lottie won't interrogate him. He's not in the mood in the slightest.