The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 13

Louis will admit that the fact that Harry knows his deepest, darkest secrets - things his dad doesn't even know about him - makes his stomach curdle in nerves. He doesn't trust the lanky lad. His mind keeps whispering at him that he's going to rat him out as soon as he turns his back on him, and after the way he's treated him, that's kind of what he expected to happen. But, to his utter befuddlement, he kept his gorgeous mouth shut so far. Occasionally, he'll purse his lips or crack his knuckles absentmindedly, but that's about all the interaction they share for the next couple of days. He doesn't necessarily mind it. Although, he has to say he respects him for not butting into his life when he told him to stay out. He's still a little disturbed, but not unpleasantly so, by Harry's reaction. It was just so...strange.

He was finally able to remove his bandage last night, and the scab was truly frightening. It's certainly not a sight for sore eyes right now, but it's more of a cosmetic problem than a mechanical one. He can bend his knee and all that at least. And, most importantly, he can play. Now that he's mostly healed, he feels a little guilty for skipping the past couple of practices. It's not that he wants to because he happens to really love football, but because Connor would find some way to push him around, and he doesn't know how Harry's going to react. Sometimes it's just easier to run from your problems than face them.

The only good thing about the extra time is that he was able to make a little bit of a dent in his school work. In fact, he's already managed to complete two of the packets his teachers gave him and he feels prepared enough to write essays in both subjects. Not that he would unless he had to. He's not that geeky.

A soft creak interrupts his thoughts, and he glances up to see his stepbrother stalk to the other end of the couch before sitting down. He reaches down by his socked feet, pulling a throne pillow into his lap, emerald eyes burning into his skin. Louis sighs and fiddles with his pen.

"May I help you?"

"Nah, I'm good." His eyes flicker over him boredly, faltering at various points of multicolored skin. He smells clean, his curls damp and disheveled like he just took a shower. "Your jaw is getting better."

"Yeah, and?"

Harry drops his gaze to the notebook in his lap. "You blew off football practice to study?"

Louis taps the pen against his cheek, twirling it, annoyed. He's not captain anymore. It doesn't matter, and Harry shouldn't care. "And what if I did?"

"That's lame," he snorts.

"You're lame," Louis responds absentmindedly, scribbling in the margins of the page to pretend to be busy. Harry's spindly hand creeps into his view and snags the book away. "Hey!"

The curly-haired boy flips through the pages with an unamused expression. "You're not even doing anything...what the hell is this subject? It's like a different language."

"It's physics," he deadpans, flailing his hand out to grab it back. Harry lifts the notebook above his head, smirking when his fingers whiff it. Doesn't tolerate bullying, his arse. "Give it back, you dolt."

"Why would I do that when we're having so much fun?"

Louis huffs. "For someone who claims to hate bullying, you sure act like a jerk."

Harry's mouth flattens, lips pressing together so tightly that they turn white. He lowers the notebook just enough for Louis to jump a bit in his seat and grab it. Louis wonders if he hit a soft spot. Hauling his pillow closer to his chest, he angles his body away from him, clearly trying to dismiss his comment as he turns on the television. "You overreact."

"Do I? Because I think you're quite the hypocrite."

His fingers tighten around the embroidered edges of the pillow, forcing the stuffing towards the middle, and he tosses the remote carelessly on the floor. "I never pushed you," he snarls. As if that's the only thing that constitutes as bullying.

"Physical bullying isn't the only type of bullying. You call me names."

"I was just joking," he breathes, green eyes rolling up. "Siblings do that. They piss each other off. Jesus. Why do you have to take everything so literally?"

Louis frowns, closing his notebook and shoving it on the table. "We don't have to fight." He remembers his dad's words. How they could actually get along now if they tried. Maybe he should make his intentions clear now before he hates him any more than he already does. "Not all siblings fight."

"I didn't say anything about fighting. As far as I'm concerned, this is not fighting. This is hardly considered banter."

"Maybe not in your opinion," he mutters quietly, wiping his palms on his sweatpants and quirking his glasses. Harry turns his gaze from the television and scans him. He swears he sees his expression soften for a heartbeat. But looking at him, he doesn't think Harry is capable of changing for the likes of him. "But I'd really just rather we ignore each other from now on, if we can't get along."

His throat bobs. "What makes you think we're not getting along?" Louis gives him the nastiest glare he can muster, and Harry recoils. "I thought we were doing okay."

"I can tell that you've never had siblings before."

"What would you know? You've never had siblings either," he retorts, sitting up straighter. He has a couple small water stains on his gray shirt that dripped off the tips of his hair, and when he ruffles them out of his face, Louis gets sprayed some, even from the distance he's sitting away from him. "You could be very wrong."

Louis bites his lip. "I've read books."

Harry scoffs. "Of course. Do you always trust books to tell you everything you need to know? Because I'm pretty sure they can't teach you how to interact with people. You have what? Like one friend?"

"The offer of ignoring each other is still on the table," he grumbles irritably. Frankly, Harry's starting to grate on his nerves. He can't just assume he knows what siblings do. Harry sighs.

"Fine. I'm sorry."

Louis perks up a little. Now they're getting somewhere. "Sorry for what?"

"For calling you names or whatever. I didn't mean it in a derogatory way. And I didn't know it offended you."

He gives his arm a pinch, surprised to find that he feels the sharp sting that accompanies it. So he's not dreaming. Harry's actually apologizing to him. His green eyes are actually trained on him, not over his shoulder or at the ground - on him. He never thought he'd live to see this day. His mouth parts, spluttering a little. "T-Thank you."

Harry grunts. "Whatever."

"You know, saying whatever doesn't make you look any cooler," he quips hotly. "It actually makes you look more like a dick."

Snickering, he props his feet up on the table. "What was it that you said yesterday? That you like d**k?"

"I don't like your d**k-like face." Louis reaches forward and shoves his feet off the table, but they just spring back into place, and he scowls in disgust, "We eat on that table sometimes. I don't want my food to taste like foot fungus."

Harry pulls his foot into his lap, rolling his sock off before tossing it at Louis' head. It hits his hair before sagging onto his shoulder. Louis screeches, muttering, "Ew, ew, ew." Using the very tips of his fingers, he picks it off and drops it on the floor, shuddering in disgust. "Now my face is going to have fungus!" Harry snorts.

"Drama queen."

"Caveman."

"Baby."

"Arsehole."

"Shorty."

"Dick."

Louis chomps down on his lip when he sees the corners of Harry's mouth twitch once in amusement. His posture seems to have eased a little, leaning forward instead and placing his elbows on his bony knees. He can't tell whether they're getting along right now or if they're still fighting. Niall and him joke like that all the time, but he doesn't know Harry's preferences.

Harry tilts his head, studying him under his lidded eyes. "Why haven't you told your dad?"

"About what?"

He taps his jaw twice, grimacing as if he doesn't feel comfortable saying it out loud. Louis runs his fingers over his jaw, feeling the short, scratchy hair there, and he has a weird, sudden desire to know whether Harry shaves or if his face is naturally that smooth because he's cursed with fast growing facial hair, and he doesn't remember ever seeing stubble on his face. "That."

Louis sighs. "Because he'll do something extreme. Like pull me out of school two weeks before it ends, and I kind of really want to graduate." That's not entirely the reason, but it's a part of it, so at least it's not a lie.

"I find it hard to believe that this has just recently started happening."

The front door squeaks open, the boys' heads turning to see their parents stroll in, grocery bags in hand. His dad kisses Harry's mum quickly on the mouth before slipping off his dress shoes. Hair rumpled and shirt wrinkled, he removes his jacket and loosens his tie. It's a foreign sight to see his dad so domestic with someone else. But it's kind of nice too. He looks happy. Harry's mum disappears into the kitchen and he knows he doesn't have much time before his dad intrudes on their chat.

"Hey, boys."

Louis leans in close to Harry, blocking his dad's view with the back of his head so he can't read their discussion. He hooks his finger, telling him to lean in too and Harry obeys, a bewildered expression on his face - like he can't believe he's voluntarily inviting him in. "Look," he whispers quietly. "I'm not going to lie to you. It's been going on for a while. Like three years. And, yes, my dad doesn't know, but I really don't want him to know. Especially now. He'll think I didn't care enough to tell him."

"Why didn't you just tell him before?" Harry's breath smells like candy-canes, and his hair reeks of some fresh, manly-scented shampoo. "Three years is a long time to hold a secret. Didn't you want it to stop?"

"I was embarrassed," he admits. "He knows I'm gay, but he already treats me like a kid. He'll think I'm helpless if he finds out. And I don't like pity. It's only two more weeks. I can survive."

"Okay." Harry flutters his gaze down then back up. Then he jumps backwards a few feet, startled when his dad enters the living room. His eyes look a little wild, and Louis wonders how his dad scared him so much when he has a clear view of the front door.

"Lou, how was school, bud?" His father settles down on the couch next to him, ruffling his hair. "Did you get to play today?"

"He skipped practice," Harry blurts. Louis screams on the inside, giving him a steely look, and Harry quickly realizes he made a mistake. He quirks his eyebrows. "Oops."

His dad grabs Louis' shoulders, holding him out at arm's length to meet his eyes. "You skipped practice? Why, Lou? You never skip! Does your coach know about this?" He has that glaze in his gray eyes that tell him he's going to be grounded. s**t. Harry probably did that on purpose.

"Coach said he could go home today," Harry amends quietly. "I didn't mean to say skip." He looks uncomfortable lying to his dad, playing with his fingers and chewing on his lip, and Louis feels a little bad dragging him into this, but his respect for the boy is inflating exponentially knowing he just lied to save his arse. And even his dad looks impressed.

"Oh, alright. But make sure to text me next time, Lou, so I know where you are."

"I'm sorry, dad. I just forgot." When his dad isn't looking, he makes sure to lock eyes with Harry, smiling slightly. He huffs, seemingly indifferent, but the corner of his lip pull up into a smirk, dimple flashing into view before mouthing, "You owe me."

Maybe he's not so bad.