There's a voicemail on Louis' phone when he wakes up. Harry is still fast asleep by his side as Louis brings the phone to his ear to listen to it, eyes still droopy and body heavy with sleep.

"Yooo!" the voice says. It turns out it's from Niall. It's from last night. "You, Louis, you ditched me today. Right from school, ye fucking ditched without a word." He sounds slightly far away, not drunk, but probably on something. "You didn't tell anyone, but you could've told me. And then you ditch me again with a fucking text? You're. A. Prick! I love you, but you're a dick. And a prick. You're so bloody fucking distant lately, and I'm getting high by me self in me car, and you're a dick, being a dick somewhere else! Not even yer sister knows where ye at!"

Louis swallows when there's a bit of a pause. Louis can hear faint music in the background, maybe a voice or two as well. But Niall did say he was alone, so.

"This is our senior year, mate." His voice is softer, but still irate. "And yer being all weird and keeping away from everybody. I'm not cool with that, lad. I'm mad at you! I let shit fly with you because I know you hate talking 'bout shit, but don't think you don't owe me explanations! I'll always be here for ye, mate, but don't make me feel like you don't appreciate it, mate. Uncool."

The line goes dead after that. The first thought Louis has is that Niall's Irish accent seems to get enhanced whenever he drinks or gets high. The second is that Louis is a terrible, terrible friend. He's a dick and a prick, like Niall said.

Something pokes him in the cheek.

"Angry. Hedgehog," Harry mumbles. Louis looks to his right, finding Harry squinting up at him, eyes half lidded and there's a pillow mark just to the left of his mouth.

Louis scoffs and rolls over, not in the mood to handle Harry right now. He picks up his phone, opening a new text message, trying to figure out what to write Niall. He shouldn't even be texting, should he? Calling wouldn't even suffice. He should go over and hug the shit out of him, apologize and make sure to change his stupid behavior. Why does that seem so bloody hard, though?!

He feels the bed dip, Harry sidling up behind him, hand sneaking around his waist to flatten out over his tummy.

"Seriously. Harry." Louis' tone is sharp, cutting.

"Wow." Louis can practically hear how he arches a brow. "Pissed off much?"

Louis huffs, pushing Harry's hand off his stomach and scoots away. "Fuck off."

His tone is ice cold; anyone else would have recoiled, but Harry never seems to take any shit from Louis. He moves closer to him again, fitting perfectly into the curve of his legs. His hand once again makes it onto his stomach.

"Are you angry?"

Louis grunts.

"Angry, or sad-angry?"

Grunt.

"What's wrong?" Harry murmurs, not removing his big hand.

Louis kind of wants to kick him a bit, but he also likes the way Harry's hand feels against his skin. It shouldn't be this soothing.

"Niall's angry with me," he mutters, fiddling with a loose string in the pillowcase. His lower lip is popping just a bit while he focuses his glare on the stupid fucking string in the stupid pillow.

"Why?" Harry inquires.

Louis shouldn't be telling Harry anything, but the words are already on the way out of his mouth.

"I'm neglecting him," he whispers. His voice feels too thick, throat clogging up. And no. He never cries. Stop it. He swallows, ridding his voice of the rasp. "I haven't told him about... you know. So he thinks I'm being weird, keeping stuff from him."

"You kind of are."

"Thank you, Harry. Seriously."

"I mean, why don't you just tell him...?"

"Oh, please!" He raises his hand dramatically, still feeling Harry's soft breath against the back of his neck. His arm is still tightly wound around his waist, following his every breath. "I'm sorry, Harold, but not all of us are fucking blessed enough to be able to blabber to everyone who will listen about our sex lives with boys!"

"...Niall's homophobic?"

"No!" Louis hisses. "Jesus. But that doesn't mean I want to tell people! Not yet. Not... ever? I don't know! Maybe I have a little self-preservation? Or want to think things through before I fucking yell at my parents that I'm having sex with a boy."

"So, you're still mad about that?" Harry asks, voice annoyingly calm.

"Yes!" Louis answers, glancing over his shoulder. "Don't think what," he gestures vividly with his hand, "happened last night changes that."

Fuck, he ate Harry out last night. Rimjob.

What an adult thing to do. Right now he just feels like a child.

"Louis," Harry says warily behind him. "You don't trust people enough. Like, isn't Niall your best friend?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you trust him?"

"I, I do," he stutters. His words are followed by silence – all kinds of wrong silence. A silence that contradicts what Louis just said. "I trust him with my life," he adds, because he does. Somehow this isn't about that, though, and fucking Harry seems to understand that, too.

Why does Harry have to do this? This is the closest conversation Louis has had with anyone about this stuff, and he really, really doesn't want to talk about it ever again. Stupid Harry.

"I could think of some words to tell you, but I think you'd hit me," he murmurs.

"Save them."

"Okay," Harry whispers.

**

Louis spends most of the remaining day with Harry, which is something he really shouldn't because what he should be doing is apologizing to Niall and making sure they're okay.

Instead he takes a long shower with Harry, grants his last wish, and they fall back in bed to sleep an extra hour. Harry doesn't say anything about Niall again, which Louis is immensely grateful for. Jay is working during the day, but Louis can hear Lottie downstairs when he wakes up from their nap. He doesn't want to talk to her right now though, would rather stay sleeping and ignore all his problems forever.

Harry is in some kind of place between sleep and consciousness, eyelids fluttering softly now and then, naked shoulders heaving against the mattress and cheek pushed against the pillow as Louis watches on, frowning, disgruntled.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do. There's a little voice in the back of his head yelling 'no, no, no' every time he even thinks about driving over Niall's. There's another voice begging him to just 'stay, stay, stay' in bed all day with Harry. He doesn't have to work today, but he knows eventually he'll have to get up and get his shit together. Talk to Lottie, talk to Niall, kick Harry out of bed because this habit of him making a home out of Louis' bed is getting out of hand... Communication sucks.

There's a knock on the door.

"No," Louis groans to himself, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. He can feel Harry shifting next to him. Louis reaches a hand out and places it on his bicep. Don't move, don't say anything, just be still. Stay. Or something.

There's another knock.

"What?" Louis calls, keeping his hand on Harry.

"Louis, we've got to go shopping. There's no food!" Lottie's voice sounds normal. Louis doesn't feel normal. Everything is twisted and wrong.

"Are you sure?" he asks, voice muffled against the pillow.

"Yes, idiot. Get out of bed and out here. Leaving in ten, come on."

He can hear her faint footsteps retreating from the door, and he sinks back into the sheets.

Twisted. Wrong. Stupid.

Shopping. Food. Nay.

"Why do you think so much?"

Louis opens his eyes, finding Harry staring at him with his green, crystal clear, big eyes. Some fucking fairytale, isn't he? Louis almost scoffs out loud.

"My life isn't exactly easy, is it?"

"You're making it much more complicated than it has to be."

"Just... just go back to sleep, Harry. "

Surprisingly, Harry does as told.

**

"So, you're gay then," Lottie states, nodding as she pushes the shopping cart down the aisle.

Louis, who's walking (sulking) next to her, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black track bottoms, scoffs. "I'm not gay," he says.

Lottie side-eyes him.

"Look, I like boys, okay? I'm not in denial." And he's not brainless. "I just– I don't know what I am," he shrugs lamely.

"So, you're like? Gay...curious?"

He sighs. "Don't label me, Lots. You're not a fucking... label maker. I'm me, okay?" His voice is rather soft; he knows Lottie means nothing by it, but he still doesn't want people putting tags on him.

"I know," Lottie retorts, sighing as well. "I don't give a fuck, Lou. If you're, like, queer, then it's whatever. Cool."

Queer, he thinks. He's never believed in labels or categories, really. He's always thought sexuality is very unrestricted thing. Like, it's just nature, he supposes. Just people doing stuff, something fun, something they enjoy. Homo sapiens doing the do. Homo sapiens homo-ing. Or something.

Queer, though. Queer sounds rather nice.

"You do dress rather gay, though," Lottie laughs. "And don't think there's not a reason Niall calls you princess sometimes, alright?"

"Wha– !" Louis makes an indignant huff, stopping in the middle of the aisle, looking down at himself. He's in track bottoms, a simple white t-shit and a waist cut jean jacket. "What's gay about this?! And what do you mean? I'm not a princess."

She shrugs. "Wrist, hair flick thing... I don't know."

Louis glares, affronted. "You're all stereotypes, Lots. Get away from me, please."

"That! The annoyed flick!"

"I hate you. That's homophobic."

"What? It's just you, Lou. Right?" The glint in her eye is as annoying as it is similar to something Louis usually has in his own. "It's in your blood."

He rolls his eyes, heading down the aisle again. "So, you're homophobic and racist. Good to know."

"Oh, come off it," Lottie scoffs, rolling her eyes as she sidles up next him, even though she knows Louis' just being bitchy. "I don't think so. Besides, my boyfriend thinks you're-"

"Your what?" Louis stops again. "Boyfriend? You sneaky little minx."

She gives him a slow once over, ignoring his narrowed eyes before she puts on an even face. "This was about you, brother. So, ignoring what I said, and speaking of, how's Harry?"

"What do you mean 'speaking of'? Harry's not my boyfriend." They start strolling again, heading into another aisle.

"Oh, please. He practically lives in your bed. I've heard you two go at it at least twice. You're so lucky Mum hasn't caught you yet." Lottie reaches up to bring down two jars of peanut butter into the cart.

"First," Louis says, picking up the two jars from the cart again. "Gross. Second, just because he sleeps over it doesn't mean we do anything but fuck and sleep." He puts them back on the shelf, steering Lottie away from the sweets.

"You do more than that. You guys were on a date yesterday, weren't you?"

"We were not! Where the fuck do you get your information from?" Jesus Christ.

"You were out with him all night!"

"Doesn't mean anything," Louis argues indignantly. "Just because we do stuff it doesn't mean we're a couple."

"Doesn't matter if you're not labeling yourselves." Lottie smirks, taking the butter Louis hands her to put in the cart. "You're still doing stuff."

She's wrong. They don't do shit together.

Louis stares at her, impassive expression on his face. "If you don't shut your mouth, sis, I will–"

"Louis!"

No. Oh no.

"What?" Lottie says, looking behind her, just as Louis sees Anne, Harry's mum, rolling her shopping cart towards them.

"Lots?" he says, smiling, voice strained. "Fetch some apples, will you?" He gives her a push in the right direction, sending her half tumbling away.

Anne stops her cart a moment later, smiling at him. "Hello, darling."

"Hey," he says, smiling back tightly. Why, why, why.

"I'm glad to run into you, actually," Anne says tentatively, looking a little uncertain. "I wanted to apologize for last night."

"Oh." Louis wraps his arms over his stomach, swallowing as he meets her eyes.

"It was an utter mess," she sighs, shaking her head. "I am so sorry for letting you get in the middle like that. I'm sure it was very uncomfortable for you," (a bit, thank you, Louis thinks), "and I'm sure that wasn't how you wanted your first meeting with your boyfriend's parents playing out."

"Err, yeah," he says, scratching his arm. "Yeah, I guess."

"Also, darling," she says, looking at him in a different way, frowning slightly. "About your job at the frozen yoghurt shop..."

"Yeah?" he whispers, scared that she'll mention what he thinks she will.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she asks.

"Err." He tries to gather words on his tongue, say something that makes sense. "Harry and I, we aren't exactly official yet, kind of."

"Well," Anne says slowly, pursing her lips for a moment. "I know you've seen me and my husband not on our best behavior–"

"Anne," Louis interrupts instantly. "I don't know anything, honestly."

She shakes her head. "It's fine if you do, Louis. For the record, I love Harry with all my heart. He's my first priority, and I don't want you to think he's not. I'm assuming it's you he's been staying with as of late, but I can't have you thinking that he's not cared for at home–"

"Anne, I– I can't..."

"No," she stops herself. "I know. I'm sorry, I just... He's fragile, Louis. And I miss him." Harry's mum sighs again, and for a moment she looks rather resigned. "I don't want to put you in a weird position, Louis, I don't, but I feel like I'm losing him sometimes, and... Take care of him, you know? Don't let him get into his own head, and he likes pancakes with bacon in the morning, since he sleeps at yours a lot, and he..." She stops, closing her mouth. "I'm sorry, Louis," she says, voice evening out. "I'm sorry."

"It's..." It's not... He's not sure.

"I'll see you around, darling." She smiles sadly, before pushing her cart away.

A few things (it feels like a hundred at once) hit Louis.

First of all, Harry's mother just stood there in front of him, making sure Louis knew Harry wasn't neglected at home. She should be telling Harry that, making sure he knows. Yes, she looked pretty down and torn up, but Louis is sure that there is something that they're doing wrong in that home because Harry looks like he'd rather bathe in boiling water than go home when Louis tells him to. He doesn't know how Anne and Des can't realize that Harry is miserable at home. For a moment Louis can't see why he is, either. Anne truly just looked like she was devastated about the situation, too. She's been nothing but lovely to Louis.

But then, he can. All kids have different relationships with their parents, for reasons that no one else might understand. Louis would know.

Anne and Des didn't know Harry was footie captain. They haven't seen a match the entire season, probably not ever because then they'd know that Harry and Louis don't actually go well together. Fuck, Anne doesn't even know that Harry and Louis aren't friends, that they've hated each other for years. It's painfully obvious that Harry and his parents don't talk. They don't share things or communicate at all it seems. It's awful. Really, fucking awful.

And where the hell has Harry been staying? What does he do when he's not at Louis'? Does Anne think Harry spends twenty-four hours a day with him? Well, he is over at Louis' a lot and sleeps at his place, but it's surely not that much.

If this is fate, that Louis was supposed to get mixed up in something like this, then he and "God" are truly finished. Obviously, God was done with him long ago.

"Was that Harry's mum?" he hears Lottie ask behind him. He turns around, giving her a look where she's standing with a bag of green apples. He doesn't answer, only takes the bag and puts it in the shopping cart, pushing it towards the check out.

"So, you're not a couple then?" Lottie smirks anyway. "Just chatting with the mum-in-law and stuff??

Louis keeps his mouth shut.

Once they're in the car again, having stuffed the groceries in the trunk, Lottie asks if they can go practice her driving for a bit. Louis is not quite in the mood, but he doesn't know if he's ready to face Harry yet, not after that completely awkward conversation with Anne. He should probably just tell him what happened, but everything is always so bloody complicated. He doesn't want to deal with it right now. He just wants to lie in bed, wrapped in a thick duvet, possibly with Harry next to him. For reasons. Whatever.

Won't be home until later. You should probably leave by four if I haven't gotten home yet, he texts Harry.

Will you give me a back rub if I wait until you get back here...?

No

Pretty please lou :( my shoulder hurts

From when?

Yesterday

You're so full of shit. Fine.

:)

**

On Monday, Louis jogs before school. Football is going to kick up again soon and they have their qualifying match the first week of March already. The championship is looking rather bright as it is right now. The team is sharp, Louis and Harry leading the scoring league between all northern school teams at the moment. Louis is already preparing with the rest of the team. Coach Abrahams is taking a bigger role at practice nowadays, but incredibly he trusts the two of them as captains more than Louis would have thought at the start of the season.

Partly, he suspects it's because of their decrease in fighting. Louis can't deny it; they're unbelievably good together on the team lately. Sure, Louis rather dribbles than passes to the other boy, but it's gotten "better" as Coach puts it. Harry is still doing his yoga stuff, which... erm. Louis didn't know he could become this bendy. It's improved his ability accelerate faster and switch directions quicker. Harry's knee exercises have helped him an extensive amount.

Stupid Harry.

Harry who is currently sleeping in his own house. Apparently his father had requested his presence at Sunday supper, and he told Louis he'd stay the night. Louis still feels terribly awkward about his conversation with Anne, and as the time passes by he only gets angrier with Harry's parents. And with parents at in general.

Some are absolutely amazing, but others... Look, parents are supposed to make sure their kids feel safe and are healthy in all ways, both physically and emotionally. Parents are supposed to stand by their children, give their all to them. Parents don't fucking leave their children when everything hits rock bottom. Stupid, fucking parents. Some people don't even deserve their children anymore. Harry deserves better, and fucking damnit, but Louis deserves better too–

Louis contains himself. His thoughts have wandered away in a direction they weren't supposed to. This was meant to be about Harry. It was, but... He sighs, letting out a hefty breath. Enough.

He's reaching the street he was heading for – the red brick house down the road his goal. He can see Maura Horan's car still in the driveway as he comes closer, slowing down into a walk. The ground is still frosty, the morning quite grey so far. He can see the light in the kitchen from the window as he crosses the yard, heading for the front door.