"How long have you been standing there?" Louis asks breathlessly, nothing else in his mind at that moment. Harry is still under him, eyes just as wide as Louis' and they're still locked in the same position.

"Long enough," Lottie says, looking a bit scarred. "Oh well, have fun... I'll just... get myself to school." Her voice sounds numb as she turns to leave the room, and Louis finally wakes up, springing into action. He pushes Harry roughly off of him, scrambling off the bed and runs after her.

"Lottie," he calls, half falling on his way through the door, slipping on the threshold. "Lottie." He finally catches her arm by the stairs just outside his room, heart beating in panic in his chest. She spins around, eyebrows raised. "Lottie, listen. You can't tell –"

"Was that really Harry Styles?" she hisses.

"Yes, but –"

"Do you top or bottom?"

"Lottie, Jesus!" he hisses frantically. "Keep your voice down!" Lottie rolls her eyes, but Louis tightens his grip on her arm. "Listen, you cannot tell anybody. Not a word, okay?" he pleads.

She grabs his hand and firmly removes it from her wrist, crossing her arms solidly.

"Lottie, please!" He's begging here. The significance of what just occurred is starting to sink in and he isn't sure what the fuck he's going to do if she doesn't keep quiet. Fuck, this thing isn't supposed to be real. It's a tiny little nothing that happens sometimes that no one is supposed to know about. Christ, it doesn't even mean anything! Shit, if his sister doesn't keep her mouth shut then people will know he's sleeping with Harry, which is just as insane as it sounds.

Lottie is staring at him with narrowed eyes and Louis is almost ready to pray on his knees.

"I cannot believe this, Louis," she says. "In our house? While I was home?! Did he sleep here? Oh my god, Harry Styles?!"

"Lottie!" Louis hushes, unable to stand how fucking weird it sounds saying it out loud, hearing it from someone else. "I know, okay? But you can't tell anybody. I swear to god, if you do, I –" Christ, he doesn't even know what would happen if she did. He feels cold even though his heart is beating like a drum, making his blood stir.

His sister stares at him, arms crossed and she's definitely angry.

"Fine," she finally sighs, her hands falling to her sides, and Louis releases a breath of hefty relief. "But," she holds up a finger, "I'll be waiting downstairs for you to drive me to school in ten minutes and to tell me every fucking little thing about this. Tick tock." With that she stomps down the stairs and Louis is left feeling like someone took a giant spoon and is mixing relief and anxiety into a big soup in his stomach.

He slowly goes back into the bedroom where Harry is sitting on the edge of the bed, half dressed and hair disheveled. Louis flops down on his stomach on the bed, processing. What the hell just happened?

A few silent moments go by, neither of them saying a word. A minute ticks by before Louis opens an eye when Harry clears his throat.

"So... school then?" Harry asks, casually.

Louis abruptly sits up and throws a pillow at him, hitting him directly in the face. "Why the fuck are you not freaking out?" he exclaims.

"Ow." Harry rubs at his nose.

Louis gets another pillow and hits him in the chest. "My – sister – just – caught – us – doing – stuff!" Harry tries to catch hold of the pillow, but Louis yanks it away, whacking him in the shoulder.

"Louis, stop!"

"Shut up!" He hits him in the back.

"Stop making a fuzz! Stop abusing me! It's not a big deal. She's your, " he ducks from a shot towards his head, "sister. She's not gonna –" Harry suddenly gets off the bed, then proceeds to engulf Louis in a locking embrace on it, keeping him from attacking him any further. "Dammit, she's not going to say anything. Stop being overly dramatic." He lets out a breath, air brushing against Louis' cheek.

Louis' hair is standing on end, his chest is heaving and he can't move. Harry's arms are around him, the pillow locked to his chest under his arms. "I'm not overly dramatic," he huffs. "I happen to be just the right amount of dramatic for someone in my situation." He takes a short, restrained breath. "I'm not even gay, Harry. People can't know about this!"

Harry's laugh is right by his ear, and it's condescending and amused all at once. "You've fucked me multiple times and you love my arse. Sure, you're not gay."

"I do not love your arse."

"Yes, you do," Harry smiles cheekily, and then pecks the top of Louis' head because he knows it'll make him mad. Louis determinedly leans away from the touch as much as he can for a lad in his position and Harry snickers, but finally releases him. "Now, I'm gonna take a shower, use up all your strawberry shampoo and girly conditioner, put on my clothes, and go to school."

"Sod off."

Ten minutes later Louis is climbing into the driver's seat of the car, Lottie getting in from the other side. There's an annoying sense of anxiety in his gut, enhanced only because Harry seems not to have a slightest worry at all – ominous, to say the least.

He turns on the ignition and leaves the curb. He can't really think of what's worse – that his sister obviously thinks he's gay, or that she's seen him being all up on a guy, or that said guy is his mortal enemy.

"You're really making your boyfriend walk to school?" is the first thing she asks, arching an unimpressed brow. "It's raining."

So, it's even worse than that. She thinks they're dating.

Louis glares at her. "Yes? And he's not my boyfriend. We're not friends."

"You looked awfully chummy to me."

"Shut up, Lottie," he says, unable to help the defensive side of him overpowering everything else in his head.

"Whatever, Lou," she mutters, turning to stare out the window, and they fall into an uneasy silence. Louis' stomach still feels queasy, like someone's still stirring it. After a few moments more, Lottie sighs as they reach a stoplight, looking at him hesitantly. "Since when do you even like boys, though, Lou?"

He shrugs, biting his cheek.

"Since when do you like Harry Styles of all people?" He can feel her eyeing him, noting her careful tone.

"I don't know, Lottie, okay? I don't know, and I don't like-like Harry. This is just a– some thing we have. It just happened, alright?"

"Louis, I believe you. Just, it's a bit weird, yeah? You've hated him for ages."

"Well, he used to be really annoying and then we became co-captains and..."

"Wait. How long has this been going on?" Lottie asks, brows shooting up.

"A couple of... months?" he replies, sheepishly.

"Jesus Christ, Louis." She shakes her head, taking off her seatbelt as Louis stops at the curb outside her school. She turns to look at him for a moment and he meets her stare for as long as he can bear. "Just don't, I don't know, do anything stupid."

The defensive snip is at the tip of his tongue, but he withholds, sinking his teeth into his cheek once again. He nods and she reaches out, slapping him on the thigh.

"I bet you let him dom you, Lou."

She's out of the car before Louis can word vomit all over her.

**

Louis contemplates not going to school. He doesn't think he'll make it to the end of the day, the big knot of angst in his stomach making him unable to think. He briefly considers waiting in the car all day outside Lottie's school, just to make sure she doesn't go anywhere after classes so he can get a hold of her first. Even though she promised not to tell, he hasn't told her that nobody knows about this, and that means Niall too. Louis wouldn't put it past his sister to text him, asking why the hell she's the last to know.

Fuck, Louis feels horrible. Keeping this from Niall in particular makes him feel almost nauseas. Despite how much he's tried to pretend that this isn't a big thing, it's starting to settle in just how fucking big it actually is. He's pretended this Harry thing is just make believe, and as long as nobody knew, even when Harry's mum knew, it didn't feel important. But it is. He face plants into the steering wheel, trying to breathe in a normal pace. Doesn't work.

He almost drives to the fro-yo shop instead, but he receives a text just before he starts the car.

Where the hell are you dickface, it reads. It's from Niall of course. Homeroom started five minutes ago

Shit, fuck, ugh. He's been submitting to the crisis for way too long. Sit up, he orders himself. Start the car and drive to school.

He does as he tells himself and when he finally arrives at the school, he's come to the decision to ignore everything inconvenient and pretend nothing ever happened. He's a good actor; he can put up a façade. If Niall has found out then it's just a matter of time before he kicks his arse, so it doesn't really matter how long Louis prolongs meeting him.

He makes it to school just as the homeroom period ends, students filling the big hallway on the way to their lockers. Louis follows the stream, walking to his locker to leave his bag and fetch books for sociology class. He realizes that Harry's in that class and even though he knows deep down that Niall wouldn't tell anyone what he knew if he found out, he's still terribly paranoid. He doesn't really want to be near Harry, considering even the football coach could tell their relationship is different.

He takes a seat next to Stan in the back, positioning himself as far away from Harry as possible. Several people are crowding around Harry at the moment, mostly girls but a few of his friends for some reason, too, and Louis once again has to quell the paranoia sizzling in his chest. If people knew they would be crowding around him, too. Harry probably just said something "funny" (a lame joke that's really just pretentious, or so bad people felt like they needed to humor him) before Louis walked in.

The teacher starts the lecture and Louis focuses so hard on what she's saying that he doesn't hear Stan talking to him until he pokes him in the ribs harshly.

"What? I'm taking notes," he says in annoyance.

"So, what are you planning for today?" There's a glint in his eye, and Louis feels like he's missing out on something. He's too uptight to indulge though, so he fixes his eyes on the powerpoint Ms. Marin is using.

"I don't know, nothing," he mutters, shrugging. He senses the awkward look Stan gives him, but he doesn't give a shit right now.

When class finally ends, he takes his time packing up, letting Stan leave first. He stuffs his books in his bag before putting it on, double strapping. He feels a hand on his shoulder when the room is empty, save the teacher. He looks up, almost starting when he sees that it's Harry. Jesus, he thinks. He's a nervous wreck.

"No trouble, gentlemen," the teacher says, holding up a finger when she sees it's only Styles and Tomlinson left in the room. Louis rolls his eyes and Harry makes an indignant face at her turned back.

Harry turns to Louis. "So?"

"She said she wouldn't say anything," Louis says, crossing his arms.

"Told you," Harry smirks. Louis shoves him in the arm, hard. "But you're still freaking out," Harry adds, sighing.

"Of course I am," Louis hisses. "She might tell Niall, and I don't even know what to do if she does –"

"Niall? As in your best mate? He doesn't know?" Harry frowns.

Louis' eyes widen. "No! Why would you think that?" He gasps. "Have you told people?!"

"Of course not..."

Louis gapes. "Are you kidding me? Are you fucking joking, Styles?"

Harry sighs again, his large hand landing on Louis' waist. "Don't freak, but Zayn knows. He found your football at my house."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Mr. Tomlinson!" the teacher reprimands. "Language. You two have got two minutes, then I have to lock up the classroom."

"Sorry," he mutters, turning to nail his eyes on Harry again. "Are you for real? Why didn't you just tell him you stole it to mess with me or something?"

"Well, he saw your pants, too..."

"You could have told him they were yours!" Harry is so fucking incompetent. How hard is it to spit out a little lie? Like, how stupid can you be? Christ, three people already know about this. Who knows, maybe in a week the entire town will know that the footie captains are fucking.

Harry's eyes harden. "It was a little hard when they had your initials and jersey number printed on them."

Shit. Dammit. Those boxers were a gift from the team for his birthday last year. He sighs, running a hand over his face.

"That's it, right? Nobody else knows, yeah?"

"No." Harry shakes his head.

"Thank fuck," Louis sighs. "Cannot believe three people know I'm sleeping with you, you fucking train wreck," he mutters. He feels Harry's hand leave his waist. He looks up, ready to leave him with a last comment to keep his mouth shut, but Harry's facial expression cuts the words right off his tongue.

His arms are wrapped around his belly, and his eyes are staring down at Louis. He looks surprised, but most of all he looks disheartened, almost... hurt.

Louis opens his mouth a second time, but nothing comes out.

"Train wreck," Harry repeats as he slings his bag up on his shoulder, teeth gritting together. "Well, I guess you know me best to know that, don't you?" He walks away, jaw set and arms crossed. Louis already feels bad.

The rest of the classes are horrible. Not only is the stress eating him up, but he can't fucking believe he told Harry he's a fucking train wreck. He didn't even mean it; it slipped out. If anybody is, it's Louis. Jesus Christ, it's not as if he hasn't noticed that Harry sometimes seems beaten down, and Louis is not a bully. It's just Harry he fights with and they've always been like this. Maybe he went too far this time. He fucking knows Harry's exterior has been less hard lately, that he's been more vulnerable. He's not fucking blind, Christ sake.

What a fucking dick you are, Louis.

If his best friend had found Harry's clothes in his room, he'd probably cave, too. Fucking shit.

Louis continues the day in misery.

"What's wrong with you?" Niall asks after next period, and Louis can't even muster up the façade he promised himself in the car. At least Niall doesn't know about Harry.

"Just, I don't know. Bad day."

Niall makes a sympathetic face. "Sucks. Maybe we can make it better somehow."

"How?" Louis whines. He doubts Niall can get rid of the proverbial gloomy cloud above his head pissing all over him.

"Weed. Tonight. My car. My contact just set me up with a nice stash."

"How do you even afford shit like that anymore?" Louis long ago stopped asking who his contact is.

Niall shrugs as they get in line in the cafeteria. "Still have money from Nan left." Niall's grandmother passed away last year, leaving him with rather hefty inheritance.

"Sure you don't want to save that for Uni?"

"There's more than enough for that."

Louis hums, deciding on a sandwich and a juice box, even though he can feel he won't be able to swallow anything down. Quenching the unsettling turmoil in his stomach is not going well.

They sit down at a round table by the south wall, and Louis doesn't touch his food until Niall's already halfway finished with his. Liam, Stan and Lee stumble down at their table, followed by Ed and Jonny. Almost the entire football team and a bunch of hipster types that Harry hangs out with come into the cafeteria not long after. They're pushing Harry with them, even though Louis can see that he seems quite subdued. Louis pushes his food away, taking a moment to hide his face behind his hands.

"So, what's the plan?" Lee asks brightly, and the rest of the boys seem to lean in slightly around the table. When Louis opens his eyes, he sees them all looking at him expectantly.

Louis frowns, confused, eyes falling on Stan. "Plan?"

"Told you," Stan mutters under his breath.

"Did you forget?" Lee asks, incredulous. "It's February first! You always have a plan, Louis! Last year you orchestrated a weeklong mission!"

Louis feels cold, and just as he's about to open his mouth to ask if it's really the day, almost half the cafeteria starts singing.

"Happy birthday to you!"

No.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Harry...! Happy birthday to you!"

The cafeteria erupts in applause, someone whistling loudly, and when Louis glances over to Harry's table there's a fucking cake presented in front of him. Harry blows out the candles, small smile on his lips, even though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"It's his birthday?" Louis whispers.

"Mm-hmm," Liam nods. "Did you honestly forget?" His eyes are curious, but kind.

Louis is going to throw up. "Yeah."

"I mean, it's okay. Everybody knows you lads haven't been throwing much tantrum about each other lately. People will understand."

Louis making a spectacle on Harry's birthday has been thing since they started High School. It's not like he hurts him or turns his day into an irreparable mess; it's mostly just pranks that end up okay. Most of the football team is usually in on it, too. Last year he gave Harry a cake after spending an entire week abusing him with practical jokes and misery, saying "Happy birthday! You're a cunt," and then pushed his face into it. Harry took it with grace, he reckons, save the fact that he picked up the cake and held Louis down, crushing it against his face and stuffed it up his shirt.

This year, Louis called him a train wreck, and made him think he meant it.

"Jesus Christ." He stands from the table abruptly, scurrying out of the diner hall hastily. He's got to fix this.

**

It's four PM. Louis cannot believe he's doing this.

The essentials were easy to find at the shop, and the key to Harry's backdoor under the empty pot, too. His parents weren't home yet, thank god, and Louis snuck into Harry's room, bag full of decorations and shit he did not know were that fucking expensive.

He shoves it all onto the bed, flailing somewhat. Even if he's been at Harry's house a few times, it never stops bothering him how prominent the uncomfortable ambience in this house is. It's too clean, too stiff – all wrong. Harry's room is so impersonal and it doesn't fit him. Louis dislikes this house a great amount and he thinks he gets why Harry likes to be around his more, even though this bed is pretty great.

He made up some lie to Niall that he didn't feel well enough for getting high in his car, to which his friend answered that that was the actual point of why they were going to get stoned in the first place. Louis didn't answer that text. He hasn't spoken to Lottie either, or his mum who was going to make dinner tonight. Somehow this is really fucking important and the rest has to be subordinate right now, because Louis will actually admit it: Harry actually means a tiny little bit to him. He wouldn't be here right now if he didn't. Louis isn't fucking slow.

He starts by changing Harry's sheets. He bought ones in golden glitter when he skipped the rest of the classes for the day. He quickly strips Harry's bed of the old ones, stuffing them underneath the bed because he doesn't quite know what to do with them. It takes him several minutes to get the new ones on, and maybe he falls once while he's working on the duvet, but otherwise there are no major problems.