The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 1

"When are they coming over?"

Louis hops off the last step of the stairs and runs, skidding on his socked feet into the kitchen. His breathing is ragged and labored from the effort of sprinting across the house and getting dressed in tight skinny jeans and a black v-neck as fast as humanly possible.

He had accidentally fallen asleep on the couch mere hours ago, lulled into unconsciousness by a late study session last night and the overwhelming anxiety of having a new family. His home is his sanctuary from the outside world. It's just him and his dad. But, now, even his home is being invaded. And he woke up to the sound of his dad bustling around in the kitchen, clanking pots and mumbling to himself in preparation for their arrival.

Louis' dad checks his watch briefly, rolling up the sleeve. "They should be here any minute." f*****g hell.

He nods curtly, leaning back against the counter. A feeling of discomfort squeezes his stomach. How his dad thinks that only a few days warning about their new residents is okay is beyond him. It seems like just yesterday his dad was announcing he had gotten a girlfriend. He's happy for him, he really is, but, f**k. Some more warning would have been great.

"Oh, Lou. Could you do me a favor and bring down the mattress from the attic? The bed frame is already set up so you just have to toss it on. I would do it myself, but someone needs to watch the spaghetti. And no one wants you to be in charge of their food." He waves the wooden spoon in Louis' direction to emphasize his point.

Fair enough.

"Sure, dad." He reaches around his shoulder to thieve a grape from the bowl by the stove. His dad frowns, smacking the back of his hand with the spoon. Louis simply grins innocently and pops it in his mouth before fleeing the scene.

Louis trots up the stairs to the trap door to the attic. He stands on his tip-toes, cursing his height, to yank the cord down so that the ladder slips out. Hiking up the cold rungs, he hears the chime of the doorbell and the soft murmur of voices drifting through the hallway. He huffs and hauls himself up onto the floor.

And so begins Louis' personal hell.

The mattress is not hard to find with its towering height. It's in the very back corner of the cramped space by the stacks of boxes filled to the brim with old photos and dusty Christmas decorations that had long since been forgotten about.

Uprooting the mattress, he finds it's a lot heavier than it looks, and he stumbles a little with an "Oof" when he clears it up and over his head. The muscles in his biceps bulge and tremble slightly under the strain of the additional weight. He really needs to work out more. Staggering, he manages to slide the mattress down the ladder. He watches as it hits the carpet with a muted thud and falls backward. He jumps from the edge of the door, landing kind of awkwardly onto the mattress, but he simply pops back up and hauls the huge thing back over his head.

To say the descent down the stairs is uncomfortable would be an understatement. He has to shuffle down each step and concentrate on not falling the entire trip. Finally, he reaches the door to the guest bedroom with a relieved sigh. But glancing into the room makes his entire body freeze, the mattress still c****d precariously over his head.

"Oh, hello."

Louis recognizes the tall frame instantly. He has the same headband from this morning still wrapped around his curls, but has shed his extra layers so he is simply clad in black skinny jeans and a thin, white t-shirt.

He doesn't want to admit the fact that he still looks extremely attractive, especially with the black ink of his tattoos exposed on his upper arms that he hadn't seen at the coffee shop, but he would be lying if he says that he doesn't let his gaze indulge in the sight for a little bit. He finds the silver chain at the back of his neck to be especially interesting to his wandering eyes. He can't say he knows a lot of guys who can pull off jewelry, but apparently his new stepbrother can.

The boy is hovering over a suitcase stuffed with clothing and various undergarments when Louis comes in. He turns his neck to look at him blankly. There is a faint spark of recognition in the boy's eyes, but he squelches it, clearly not interested in initiating a conversation.

"Oh, it's coffee boy."

His voice, when he finally does speak, is rather low, and Louis finds that it doesn't really seem to quite fit his boyish features. It has almost a husky rasp to it, and he drawls out each word slowly and carefully in his British accent like he's speaking to someone he finds inferior. But Louis tries not to find offense in it. Part of it seems to just be the natural lit to his voice, and though he doesn't want to confess it, it's oddly captivating to listen to. It does sound mildly disappointed though.

Harry, Louis thinks is his name, briefly lets his green eyes scan over him, scouring over the tattoos that decorate Louis' arms, stopping at the mattress above his head and then flicking back to his biceps. He rolls them and goes back to whatever he is sorting without a word.

Louis decides to ignore the cold behavior, suspecting that he isn't any more thrilled than he is about this new arrangement and enters his room. Louis swings the mattress down and lays it on the bed frame. His joints crack loudly as he releases it, and he lets a small grunt escape his lips, finally feeling the tight tension in his shoulders dissipate.

The boy glances at Louis for a microsecond - just a flutter of his eyelashes really, and that's all the acknowledgement he gives him. No "thank you" or "hello" comes from his lips, and Louis fumes a little on the inside. Damn pretty boys.

Rolling his shoulders back, Louis stretches out his stiff back and fixes his glasses. "The least you could do is say thank you, you know." Harry doesn't even flinch. "I nearly broke my back trying to get that for you."

"I didn't ask you to get that for me."

"Next time you can get it yourself then, cocky."

Harry shoves his suitcase closed and kicks it across the room. He apparently has no regard for the wood floor of his new bedroom either. And Louis thanks the Gods above that they don't have to share a room. He has a pair of briefs held tightly in a vise-like grip in his considerably large hand, and he waves them vaguely at Louis like he's scolding him.

Louis decides it's best if he doesn't look directly at the sizeable underwear - instead finding purchase on a freckle below Harry's eye.

"Look, Lewis, or whatever the hell your name is -"

"It's Louis."

"Whatever." The boy's eyes dart to the window of his new room, gazing out at the dark overcast that covers the sky, and they turn a light green-gray against the natural light streaming in. "I don't want to be here in this shithole of a small town where it rains six times a week and the people don't know what personal boundaries are when I could be back with my friends in London." He looks at Louis, and it's something close to mesmerizing the way his pupils dilate back - vibrant green replacing the gray. "And I certainly don't want a f*****g stepbrother."

"You think I do?" Louis asks incredulously.

That boy has some nerve to say that Louis and his dad are the ones ruining his life. Louis hasn't done a single thing to give him a reason to hate living here yet. If anyone is ruining someone's life, it would be that Harry is ruining his.

"I barely even know your name and now you're moving into my house. The only reason I'm putting up with this bullshit is because your mom makes my dad happy, okay? I tried to be nice to you, but clearly you insist on acting like some kind of toddler. I don't care if you don't want to be here because I don't want you here either. So kindly stop your whining and stay the f**k out of my way. Got that, pretty boy?"

Harry snorts. Whether that's at the entire comment Louis made or a resentment to his new nickname, Louis doesn't know.

"No problem, Shorty. I don't want to associate with you either. You'll kill my chances of making friends anyway."

Louis feels his hands curl into fists. He despises being called short. Hates it. It's not his fault he's not vertically gifted like Harry, but for some reason, that gives people all the more reason to pick on him. They don't seem to understand that it might actually hurt his feelings.

But he knows that Harry is just testing his patience. He's trying to get Louis to bow down more than he actually cares about wounding him. He wants to be the alpha sibling. Louis can see it in the smug twinkle in his eye and the small twitch at the corner of his delectable mouth. Plus, he doesn't plan on spending anymore time in his presence than necessary.

So instead of punching Harry in his perfect face like he wants to, he takes a deep, stabilizing breath and calmly folds his hands behind his back. The steadiness of his voice shocks him when it comes out.

"Of course," Louis drawls, only a small part of it oozing sarcasm. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"

Harry's face falls. There's a slight frustrated pucker to his eyebrow and a pout to his lips at Louis' lack of reaction, but it quickly disappears. He walks to the other side of his room and opens the drawer to his dresser violently, carelessly tossing the undergarments in.

"Whatever."

Louis rolls his eyes at his dramatic attitude. It may seem like he doesn't give a s**t, but clearly he does. Otherwise he wouldn't be throwing a tantrum. "I'll be in my room. Please hesitate to ask if you need anything."

He spins on his heel, not waiting for a response. However, he freezes as something else comes to mind. "Oh, and if you come into my room without knocking, I will break your neck. Kapeesh?"

"Why? What exactly are you going to be doing in that room of yours?"

There's a definite smirk slurring his voice - and he's not sure exactly what he's insinuating, but he doesn't want to know. It's probably something s****l based on the way his eyes burn accusingly into his back.

"Just don't do it," he growls.

He sprints up the stairs, not caring that he's stomping loudly. His father gives a soft yell of disapproval from some far away part of the house. Louis ignores it and throws open his bedroom door. He heads straight for his bed and shoves his hands under the sheets, rooting through the material for the thing he's missing.

Louis' fingers brush something hard and cold. "Ah ha!" He quickly yanks it out of its hiding place and opens the lock screen, pulling up Niall's contact.

Grab your jacket, Ni. We have a bridge to jump off of.