The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 2

The sound of scraping of graphite against paper fills the room as Louis writes the final formula in his chemistry notebook. To him, it isn't hard to recognize how ions bond together and form compounds. It isn't hard to recognize that their charges should balance and cancel each other out. And maybe that makes him a nerd . . . but Louis can't find himself to care. He's good at school, sure. He can even confess that he likes school. It's not in the traditional sort of sense though.

Because, if you ask Louis, school is his escape. Escape from this, as Harry so kindly put, shithole of a town. The weather is horrible and most of the people even more so. All Louis wants to do is make sure he does well in his classes, get plenty of scholarships, and move to London. He'll figure out what to do from that point on later.

Louis shoves his notebook into his book bag with a heavy sigh just as his new step mom voice echoes through the hallway, summoning them down for dinner. Brilliant timing. He hops off the bed and picks his way downstairs.

He's still not entirely sure how he feels about having another teenager occupy his house. It's hard to say after only a couple of hours really. But other than the rude greeting, it's been very quiet. He doesn't know what he was expecting - loud music or stomping perhaps?

That's a far from accurate description for what actually happened the past few hours. Louis' pretty sure he even forgot that the curly-haired boy is even here for a while. And that might have been more shocking than his arrival. Maybe he was too quick to judge. Maybe having a stepbrother won't actually be that bad. After all, he can just hide in his room if he doesn't want to be near him.

But as Louis locks eyes with his new stepbrother and his stomach gives a swoop of something frighteningly similar to desire, he can't help but believe he might need to stay away for an entirely different reason than peace and quiet. If the fact that despite Harry's arrogant attitude, he still finds some kind of thrill by being in his presence isn't worrying, then he doesn't know what is. Louis gives his arm a sharp pinch in the hope that he can dismiss the feeling. It seems to work.

Louis slides into his chair at the oak table without a word, Harry following his example at the other end. Good. The further away he stays, the better.

His step mom smiles warmly at him. "Louis! It's good to see you again!" She comes around the table with a plate of freshly cooked spaghetti in her slim hand and places it in front of him, giving his shoulder a soft squeeze as she reaches over. Louis hopes she doesn't notice the way he stiffens. "How is football going?"

Harry, who is poking at his food - not that Louis is watching - suddenly sits up a little straighter. His topaz eyes focus on Louis' face so steadily that his skin seemingly combusts under the attention. It doesn't cause the familiar flip of his stomach, but it gets under his skin in a way he can't explain. Exposed is the best way he can describe it. He feels Harry can see right through him. And it's f*****g unnerving.

"Hey, Anne." Louis swallows his uneasiness, tenderly picking up his fork. "Uh . . . it's going well, I think. We got a new recruit from Brookside a month or so ago, and he's already showing signs of potential. I think he'll be a valuable asset for us." Harry's eyelashes flutter. "Oh, and we beat Yorkshire yesterday, so we are heading to the semis in two weeks."

"Wow," she exclaims, eyebrows raising in surprise. "You must be a pretty good captain then, huh?"

Louis shrugs, observing Harry from the corner of his vision. He stabs his pile of noodles aggressively and twirls his wrist so that it snuggles around the silver utensil. He does it skillfully and with ease, bringing it up to wrap his lips around it, his tongue sticking out slightly to bring it in. There's almost something teasing about the way he does it. When Louis' lips part, Harry's eyes sparkle, and Louis knows he's doing it on purpose.

"Y-yeah, I guess." Louis quickly averts his eyes to his barely touched plate, taking his own bite. He is sure that it tastes wonderful, but with Harry's deliberate staring, it's bland and tasteless in his dry mouth. He's always been a terrible liar. "I, uh, do what I can."

A strong hand smacks Louis on the shoulder out of nowhere, and he jumps. "C'mon, Lou," comes his father's voice from behind him. "Don't be so modest! Louis here has led his school to, soon to be, two championships and is one of the best high-school midfielders in England."

Louis groans internally. His dad is bringing way too much attention to him, and he knows if they keep asking questions, he'll slip up. He watches as his "parents" settle down at the table.

"That's fantastic, Louis!" Anne chirps. She turns her gaze to cast a meaningful glance at her son. Harry lowers his fork, and he suddenly looks a little scared. "Did you know that Harry plays football as well?" Harry's face falls back into expressionless as the threat passes. He briefly lets his eyes flicker to Louis' before looking back down at his food. Then his whole demeanor lights up.

"Does he?" Louis muses suspiciously. "That's cool."

Harry lowers his fork. "You know what? That is cool." A grin barges its way onto his face, and somehow Louis is the only one who sees the devilish twist to it. "Maybe I should try out for the team."

Louis' heart stops, plummeting into his stomach with dread.

"Then I can bond with my new brother doing something we both love. Wouldn't that be great? I could even ask Louis to show me some moves since he's captain and all." There is so much sarcasm oozing off of Harry at this point, that the air seems pungent with it. Like if Louis picks up his knife, he can cut it into pieces. His sickeningly-sweet tone is enough to make his blood boil in unkempt resentment.

"What a lovely suggestion, Haz!" His smug smile falters at the embarrassing nickname, and Louis snickers. "What do you say, Louis? Are there any open positions for recruits?"

Louis wants to deny that they have room - anything to keep Harry away, but, unfortunately, his coach is looking for an extra defensive sub. He would be a i***t to turn down anyone willing to try out without assessing their abilities first. So he smiles tightly instead.

"I think we could make an arrangement for an audition for good ole Haz here," he replies.

Harry responds with a murderous look that says: "Don't you f*****g dare call me that or your team won't be the only thing rearranged" and a clench of his jaw. Louis grins. He's so calling him that. Harry narrows his eyes and wipes his mouth on his napkin. He has an irritated pucker to his eyebrows.

"May I be excused?" Harry asks. With a nod of approval from his mom, he's scraping his chair backwards and up within milliseconds.

Louis drops his fork onto his plate with a clank and stands. "I'm done too."

He snatches his dirty dishes and wanders into the kitchen, passing Harry on the way out. But the curly-haired boy doesn't acknowledge his presence, simply knocking his shoulder into his and leaving a faint cloud of cologne in his wake. Louis' able to note the muscle definition of his shoulder and the sparks that flow between them even through clothing. The fact that he so easily picks up on these things makes him want to throw his plate against the wall so it shatters into a million pieces. He settles for angrily dumping his dish in the sink. He hates the way Harry has already managed to get in his head. It's dangerous and unpredictable. Feelings you definitely shouldn't be having about your stepbrother.

Louis exhales heavily and wills his feet to carry him to the living room. Maybe some television will help get his head on straight. It's strange. He's never really been attracted to someone else before. Girls aren't really his thing, and most of the guys his age are reckless and idiotic. Harry's probably just as reckless based on his earlier experience with him, and that confuses him. How is he any different? Other than the fact that he's significantly more attractive than the entire population of this town.

Walking into the living room, he feels another rush of annoyance towards his new stepbrother. He has his large, putrid, socked feet propped up on the coffee table, and the remote clutched in the arm that's lazily held up and pointed at the television. Great. So much for watching what he wants to.

"Hey, pretty boy," he barks. Louis waits for him to look up and gestures to his position on the corner cushion on the couch. "You're in my spot."

"So?"

"So . . . scootch over."

He waves the remote to his right. "Just sit there."

"No, no, no," he growls. "I can't just sit there. That, where your f*****g fatarse is, is my spot. No one else sits there."

His face contorts as if he finds Louis to be the most peculiar specimen on Earth. Like he doesn't have f*****g flaws too. But . . . come to think of it, Louis really can't think of any flaws. "What's the big deal?"

"The deal is that you're sitting in my bloody seat!"

"What's wrong with that one?"

"I don't sit there."

Harry snickers, wiggling his butt on the cushion. "That's too f*****g bad then. I guess you'll have to stand."

Louis' eyes flash and before he knows what is happening, his hip is pressed against his stepbrother's and his heels are digging into the carpet, using his lower body strength in attempt to bulldoze him to the side. A squeak of surprise escapes Harry's lips, and he shoves his own feet down to hold his place.

"Move," he snarls.

"No, you f*****g lunatic."

He's not crazy, he's orderly. There's a difference. He claimed that spot as his when he first got here, and, to him, it's his prime spot for relaxing. It's directly in front of the TV and facing away from the kitchen so he can turn up the volume and pretend to be alone. It's his. And Harry can't have it when he's already taken everything else.

Louis twists away a little before ramming the side of his hip into Harry's. He grunts and lets his foothold slip a little, allowing Louis to thrust his bum onto the exposed cushion.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" His emerald eyes burn with an overwhelming amount of resentment and irritation. They are like tiny fires burning around his dark pupils. He appears completely baffled by Louis' decision to actually shove him off of the cushion so he can steal it.

"Nothing."

Harry releases a soft, threatening growl that would've been kind of hot in any other circumstance, but that's quickly kicked from his mind as Harry lunges at him, knocking him onto his side. Anne emerges from the kitchen then, observing in utter befuddlement as her new stepsons wrestle harshly on the couch, Louis kneeing the boy under him where the sun doesn't shine.

She sighs in exasperation as Harry groans in pain. "Boys!"