The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 12

"Mr. Tomlinson, could you spare a few moments?

The swarm of students around him file out, obnoxiously loud as they gossip and whine on about today's lesson. A couple of them shoot him snickers as he passes, obviously having heard their teacher call him aside, and Louis rolls his eyes irritably. This has been happening to him all day. It's nearly the last week of school and his teachers have been pulling his aside, beaming about how good of a student he is and how they're so proud of their most impressionable student. Apparently the news of his scholarship has gotten out. It's honestly kind of tedious. The praise was nice at first, but it loses meaning when all of them say the same thing.

Louis shovels his books into his bag and scoots in his chair under the desk, nudging up his glasses. As soon as the door at the front of the room closes, the air is engulfed in a warm silence that's pleasing to the ears. This is his last class of the day thankfully, so he just has to muster another speech before he goes to footie practice.

"I think I can spare a few moments," he mutters, weaving his way between the desks to the front where his teacher is sitting calmly in his chair, one leg crossed over the other.

He's a balding man of about fifty with silver hair and a scruffy beard that makes him want to take a razor to it while he's sleeping. He always thought beards were horribly gross with how bristly the hairs are and how easy it is to get food stuck in it. A little stubble is something he can live with though. In fact, he thinks he looks more mature with a light dusting on his own chin, but full on beards make him cringe. His teacher lowers his small glasses, sharp grey eyes peering over the rim and a small smile decorating his lips.

"Ah, Mr. Tomlinson. Doing alright? Are you excited about the fact school's almost over? I heard you got a full ride to London University. That's very impressive."

Louis hums out a soft sigh. "That's correct, sir. I'm going to be a Chemistry major."

His smile deepens. "That's quite the ambitious career, Louis. You must be very proud." Louis nods. "Good. You've definitely earned it. You're a diligent worker, and I thought I'd congratulate you. I can't say I won't miss one of my best students."

It's always the same. Always the same meaning, same words - just in a different order. Louis wonders how much trouble he'd get in if he rolled his eyes right now. Probably not much. As they all say, he's the "best". It genuinely doesn't help his case of being at the very bottom of the social chain at school.

"Thanks, Mr. Hurley. That means a lot." Louis throws in a fake grin just to sugarcoat it. "I can dedicate some of the success to my amazing teachers."

Mr. Hurley places his glasses back on his nose and sits forward, rifling through the papers on his desk. The smile is still present on his face, and when his fingers stop on a stack of papers, he knows what's coming. He groans softly. Thankfully, he doesn't catch it, pulling out the top packet from under the rubber band and offering it out for Louis to take.

"You've probably already got a lot on your plate being the captain of the football team and with Semifinals and all. But if you would like some extra practice for the final in a couple of weeks, feel free to do this packet if you'd like. It covers every unit we've covered this term so don't be afraid to review it a little. I think it could be very beneficial - not that I really think you need it all that much."

Louis plucks it from his hand. "Thanks. I'll look at it later." He glances briefly at the clock as he stuffs it in his bag. "I really have to run."

He waves his hand dismissively, face back to professionalism. "Don't let me hold you back, Mr. Tomlinson. I understand that you're a teenager and would rather be doing better things. I also know how busy you are." Louis thanks him and scrambles out of the classroom.

Soon Louis is jogging down the nearly empty hallways of school towards the direction of the locker room with a frown. He's gotten so many extra papers that are meant to "help" him study today, and he feels like screaming. He knows as soon as he sees it, he'll be tempted to do all of it, and he has no doubt that it'll take hours and hours. But he's already so busy . . . He has football everyday after school and he has his game next Friday. He hardly has time to breathe anymore, and all this extra work is no help.

Louis heaves open the door to the locker room, dumping his heavy bag on the bench next to a half-naked Harry. He doesn't even bother to look up at him, puffing out an annoyed, exhausted breath as he spins his combination. Skipping practice today sounds like a rather pleasant arrangement, but then he figures he's been out for long enough. He's not getting any fitter by sitting on the bench unfortunately.

In record breaking time, Louis has his locker open. He nearly rips off his shirt, yanking it over his head and chucking it in his locker. His practice jersey is still a little stained and beat up from a couple of days ago, but he doesn't care and when he pulls out his socks, he gets a whiff of stale sweat that makes his nose crinkle. It's about time he took them home and washed them. Within thirty seconds, Louis' dressed and shoving his feet into his cleats, feeling a sharp gaze on him. Louis looks up and scowls.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

Harry snorts, dipping his gaze down to do up his shoelaces. His thick mane of curls drapes down to hide most of his face and his jersey gets pulled to show the top part of his bare chest. He's got tattooed birds jutting from his collarbones.

"Whatever, Shorty."

Louis' already pissed off, so he doesn't even care that he called him Short. He's stressed enough as it is. "f**k off, Harry. I'm not in the mood."

His head snaps up at that, green eyes swimming with surprise and a flicker of irritation. Louis' tone is dismissive and borderline dead as he thinks about all the s**t he has to do these next few weeks. His chest is clenched in anxiety and he can feel himself getting riled up.

Louis takes off his glasses and tosses them haphazardly, slamming his locker. He bounds out of the locker room, sprinting on the field. Normally, he'd wait for Niall to catch up or vise versa, but the blonde boy is gone with a fever. Brilliant day to be gone really. Louis huffs. Today's not turning out to be one of his best.

The team does a brief warm up, at the coach's discretion, and Louis' already breaking a sweat. He really thought his knee would be healed enough by now, but it really f*****g burns when he runs and he feels ridiculous with the way he's limping. His bandage is showing on his knee since his footie shorts only go a little past mid-thigh, and when he steps a little funny during their scrimmage, he can see a small stain of blood spreading slowly through his bandage. Oh, that's just great.

He grimaces, half jogging, half walking over to his coach. "Um, coach? I've kind of got a problem. My knee opened up again."

Frustration flashes across his coach's face as he receives the news, his hands reaching to rub over his face. He lowers his head and frowns, upset that he's still managing to disappoint people. "Alright. Okay, Tomlinson. I'm sad to have to say I think you'll need to sit out again. Working it will just make it worse."

Louis swallows. "What about the team, coach? I'm their captain. If I'm out, then we have no one to help organize the formations."

His coach ponders it for a few heartbeats, scratching at his chin lightly. He almost looks bashful or maybe disappointed when he meets his eyes again. "I'm afraid we're going to have to temporarily reassign the position to someone else. I hope that's okay with you, Tomlinson. I'm just trying to do what's best for the team."

He knows it's the right thing, but he can't help but feel his mood drop again as he shoots him a fake smile. It seems he's been doing that a lot. He's not even sure if he knows who the real Louis is anymore.

"No, it's fine. I completely understand. I would do the same thing in your position. It's what's best for the team."

Pleased with his answer, his coach blows the whistle, nearly screaming for the players to come in. Louis jumps, nearly covering his ears at how loud it was. He must be cutting practice early, Louis thinks as the players grudgingly form a half-circle around Louis, allowing him to kind of slip into the crowd and blend in. He stands by a taller boy who's nicer, and when he looks up, he can see Harry roaming over the boys as if looking for someone. Louis cowers closer to the boy on his left.

"Alright, lads. I regret to inform you that our captain is still out of sorts and not fit to play for a while yet. So graciously, he's offered to step down from his position for a little bit in the hopes that someone can take his place temporarily." He sees a couple of the players nudge each other jerkily, excitement and hope shining in their eyes. "So I'll be choosing said replacement for the next couple of days."

Louis looks down, scuffling the grass with his cleat. He thinks he can feel someone's gaze on him, but he doesn't think anything of it. They're probably all looking at him.

"Schmidt." His coach says the name of his main bully - the one who pushes him around the most and even goes out of his way to make sure Louis knows he doesn't like him. Louis flinches, whimpering softly. If he's the captain, then he's officially twenty times more dangerous. "You're the new captain."

His teammates rush to congratulate him with pats of encouragement, but Louis feels sick to his stomach, creeping away from the group silently. The smug twist to his lips has Louis squirming and swallowing uneasily because he knows he's never going to let Louis live this down. He prays to God that he doesn't turn around and see him standing further away from the group because Niall's not here and Niall is his protector. The bullies tend not to be as violent when Niall's constantly by his side. But he's gone, and Louis' blood runs cold.

Connor, that's his first name, slips away from his admirers to advance in on Louis. His eyes widen, but he keeps his ground. Maybe it won't be that bad today. Maybe he'll just get a few insults or a nudge. A boy can hope, right?

"M-May I help you?" He asks stiffly, hands clenched together tightly.

A smirk finds its way onto his lips. "How nice of you to give up your title for me, Lou. It means a lot. Really. The team seems quite happy too. They must be really pleased that they don't have to listen to a faggot for directions anymore."

Louis digs his nails into his palm, forcing a cocky smirk. Niall would be proud of him if he could see him now. "Guess they'll have to look a little harder for a captain then."

Fury twists all of his features and he takes an intimidating step forward, clearly pissed that Louis actually thought he had the audacity to make a snarky comment back. Louis feels his stomach clench in fear, but he swallows it down, attempting to make it look like it didn't affect him like it did. He knows he has the power to pound the fudge out of him if he wanted to.

Strong, large hands push against his chest and then he feels himself falling. He hits the ground awkwardly, his tailbone aching. He wants to scramble back up, but his dark eyes keep him pinned and cowering on the cold ground.

"Don't you ever f*****g talk to me like that, fag. The next time I see you even look my way, you'll wish you were never born and you definitely will not return to be captain again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," he chokes out quietly, trembling slightly.

"Good," he spits harshly, jerking forward in a harsh step and laughing darkly when Louis flinches.

Then he turns and leaves almost as quickly as it happened, a disgustingly satisfied smile on his lips. People like him make him embarrassed to be a part of the human race. He feels oddly proud for sticking up for himself though, and he leans his head back against the grass for a second, taking a couple breaths. He thinks he even feels himself smile a little. But that's short-lived when he hears someone clear their throat above him and his eyes shoot open, smile quickly vanishing.

Fuck, how much of that did he see?

The tall figure reaches down and grabs Louis' wrist, yanking him to his feet harshly. He doesn't let his arm go when he's standing, and Louis squirms. His fingers are tightly clenched and he gasps when he squeezes. He wonders if he should tell him that he's hurting him or if he already knows. His eyes blaze a flaming green. Oh s**t. He's mad.

"What the hell was that?" He hisses. Yup, he definitely saw what happened. Dammit. He decides to play dumb.

"What was what?" He asks innocently, c*****g his head to the side.

"Don't play dumb with me," he growls. His face is the poster-child for anger. If he thought Connor was scary, then Harry's a bloody horror movie. He doesn't like that look on his face. It doesn't suit him. In fact, he's not even really sure what he's mad about. It's not like he cares. "You know what I'm f*****g talking about."

Louis goes to his instant defensive mechanism when he's terrified and uncertain: sass. "Don't worry about it. It's none of your f*****g business." He rips his arm from his grip, frowning and rubbing the tender skin. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go get dressed out."

A hand grabs his waist when he tries to move past. A couple fingers accidentally push up the material of his shirt as he wriggles and brush against his bare skin, uprooting some butterflies in his stomach, but he just continues to twist out of his grip, growling. "Don't touch me."

"Tell me what the f**k he said to you," he demands.

"No. It doesn't matter. He just wanted to consult me about some captain things. You wouldn't understand."

"And he plans on getting that information by pushing you?" He snorts condescendingly, nostrils flaring slightly. If Louis didn't know any better, he'd say he almost cares about the fact that he laid a hand on him. But that's ridiculous. Surely he has a reason for getting so worked over something so insignificant. He's not stupid though, and Louis knows he can't fool him into thinking it wasn't what it looked like.

"What?" He spits irritably. "Are you going to start pushing me around too? I already get enough of that shit."

His large hand tightens around his waist, surprisingly able to cover a lot of skin. He's so much bigger than Louis. It's not fair. Harry snarls. "Why do they push you?"

"Why do you care?" He shoots back, just as much bite to his own words.

Harry finally sneaks his hand off his waist, cracking his knuckles with a dark expression. "Bullying is not something I tolerate. Now tell me." His deep voice is so low and demanding that it sends chills down his spine. He feels himself giving in with a sigh.

"I suppose you'll find out one way or another."

Louis feels uncomfortable with the way Harry's hawk-like stare is entirely focused on him. This is by far the most attention he's given him since they met, but it's far from friendly. His teeth grind together and his muscles are stiff and tense. He looks like he wants to hurt something. Or someone. The vein in his throat twitches. Louis licks his lips, taking a generous step backwards, and Harry thankfully doesn't follow him, seemingly able to sense that he's uncomfortable.

"I'm, uh, g-gay." He swallows when Harry doesn't even blink. "That's why they hurt me, I guess. They think it's unnatural, but I'm not ashamed. I like d**k. I like it up the arse or whatever. I like boys. And I guess it's just a bit of bad luck that I happen to be a little obsessed with my grades as well."

Harry shakes his head with a deep frown gracing his features, pulling distractedly at his bottom lip as if he can't believe it. "That's f****d up."

Louis scowls angrily. "I didn't ask for your straight arse opinion."

He c***s a thick eyebrow at him. "I meant that it's f****d up that they're hurting you because you're gay."

"Oh."

Green eyes dart down to survey his bloody bandage, flaring again. "That wasn't an accident, was it?"

"I don't have to talk about this with you." Louis pushes his messy fringe out of his face, feeling a little more confident now that he knows the anger's not directed at him. "And frankly I don't know why you care."

"You have to tell someone. Who all knows?"

"Niall . . . And, um, you now, I guess."

"Louis, you're so stupid," he growls, a hint of maybe genuine concern lacing his voice. It's hard to say though because when he starts talking, he gets a little mesmerized. "How is anyone supposed to help you if you don't tell people what's going on?"

Louis squints. "I don't want help."

Harry frowns again, but Louis just walks the other way, done with their conversation. He doesn't want help. If he wanted to get help, he would've gotten help already. So why does everyone think he needs some kind of help? He only has a little over two weeks left of high school and pretty soon all these people will just be a blurry memory. It's just not worth it anymore.