The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 19

Stumbling into the living room after a long, strenuous day of school, he fumbles upon Harry laying on the couch. His legs are tossed up on top of the couch, and his head is hanging upside down, eyes following the movement of the characters on the Telly. He strains to look up at him when he comes in, green glazed in boredom. Is this all he did all day? He knows he's grounded and all, but Louis couldn't sit there and watch television for eight hours straight. "Hey, Louis."

"Hi."

He rolls over onto his stomach, crawling over so he can sit up and face him properly. His fingers rub at his eyes, and he gazes over his footie kit with something that looks very similar to longing. "How was practice?"

"School was great, thanks for asking." Harry rolls his eyes, but he smiles a little bit. "Um, practice was decent, I guess. It's very quiet now that Connor is suspended."

"I'm so bored," he moans. "Come entertain me."

Louis looks at his dirty practice jersey, pulling it out to see a giant grass strain across his stomach. His neck and underarms feel sticky with sweat, and he feels uncomfortable with Harry just looking at him. He feels absolutely repulsing. "Um, can I take a shower first?"

Harry c***s his head, but then his eyes light up, and he jogs out into the garage. Louis huffs in disbelief, running his hand through his sweaty hair. Well, he doesn't have to be rude about it. He enters the kitchen instead, munching on a cookie dough flavored granola bar, not entirely sure where Harry ran off to or if he's expected to wait for him. The garage doesn't hold much except boxes of old stuff and sporting equipment.

After a couple minutes, he hears the door to the garage open up, and he wanders to find him, halting in surprise when he sees him holding an orange football. Harry grins when he sees him, holding it up. "How 'bout a game?"

He feels his muscles already shrieking in protest at the thought of more exercise. His quads feel like jelly, and his calves feel tight. Is more exercise really a good idea? He might re-injure his knee. "Harry, I'm tired. And my knee is killing me."

"I've been stuck inside all day," he groans. "C'mon. I don't want to play by myself. It's no fun. And, besides, who's going to be the goalie?"

Louis takes a deep breath. "Fine, okay. Whatever. Let's go." At least he doesn't have to do much running.

Immediately following the closing of the back door, Harry sprints off away from him, dropping the ball at his feet. He places the bottom of his foot on top, rolling it back and forth eagerly as he wants for Louis to walk stiffly towards the goal. Louis pauses at the small, portable goal that they have set up in the backyard, tugging his tight cleats off and sighing in relief when he feels the cool grass through his socks. He dumps his smelly shin guards in the yard as well, hoping Harry can't actually smell him from where he's standing. He's probably used to the scent, but Louis still finds the thought mortifying because it definitely doesn't smell pleasant.

"Ready?"

A chilly breeze floats through the air, carrying Harry's deep voice to him and ruffles his hair. "Yeah."

He taps the ball with the outside of his foot a couple times, lifting his gaze every once in a while. Then he does a couple of moves through the grass, apparently utilizing the many sticks as defenders, and Louis sighs exasperatedly. "Stop showing off and just shoot the damn ball." Louis hopes his voice sounds playful and not as snappy as it did to him because he didn't mean it to be rude. He's just very tired.

"As you wish."

Harry stops the ball, backing up a couple of feet before bounding forward and sending a rocket towards the goal. Louis dives to punch it away from the right corner of the goal. His fingertips only graze the skin of the ball though, and it spins sharply into the net with a crack. Louis huffs, pulling himself off the ground with a groan.

"Nice shot," he grumbles.

Louis moves to pull it from the net, but Harry bets him to it, handing it to him with a sideways tilt of his head. "Something tells me you don't want to shoot."

"Wow, how'd you guess?" He asks sarcastically.

"How good are you at juggling?" He inquired curiously, letting Louis' small hands take the ball. "If you're not up for being the goalie, we could just practice keeping the ball up."

He shrugs modestly. "Decent."

"Show me."

Louis spins it a few times in his hand, looking at Harry's face for a second. "Okay."

With a deep breath, he drops the ball, quickly moving to tap it with the top of his foot. It doesn't take long for him to find a steady rhythm, just passing it back and forth between his feet, and Harry stands back, leaning against the goal post so he can watch him. Something in his expression gives him the inclination that he seems slightly impressed with the ease he's performing with, and he can't help but want to show off for him. His pulse quickens just knowing how closely those green eyes are analyzing him, and his stomach dips when his lips part. He starts kicking it just a little harder, letting it move higher and higher each time before actually sending one high enough to go backwards over his shoulder, and then he uses the back of his heel to bring it back and continue.

"f**k, you're so good. How'd you learn to handle balls like that?"

Louis' face blushes hotly, trying extra hard not to mess up. It seems like he doesn't really realize how dirty that sounded, watching with awe. Though Louis might be more surprised that he actually interpreted it as some type of s*x joke. He's never thought about that stuff before Harry started coming here. "Well, our coach used to play for Leicester. He was my recreational coach for a while too when I played club, so I've been trained by a professional for as long as I can remember. You pick up a few tricks here and there."

"s**t, that's awesome." Harry takes the bandana out of his curls, ruffling them up so they look freshly mangled. It doesn't really seem fair that he's doing that right in front of him when he's trying to concentrate. He wraps it around his wrist, shifting his weight on his feet. "Maybe when I come back, I should get his autograph. Leicester is my life."

Louis freezes mid juggle. The ball doesn't halt much though, and it comes back down to hit the top of his head. He winces but just grabs it. "Oh, hell no. I can't be brothers with someone who like Leicester. Traitor. I'm disowning you."

Harry laughs huskily. "What? You're disowning me? I don't think that's much of your decision."

"Chelsea will beat your arse."

Recognition flashes across his eyes like a slap to the face. "Oh, you're a Chelsea fan." He smirks, looking him up and down. "Makes sense."

"What the f**k is that supposed to mean?"

"You're feisty." He states as if it's obvious.

"And I have a better taste in football teams apparently. You shouldn't stereotype every Chelsea fan you come across."

"Leicester has Jamie Vardy."

"Chelsea can play football."

"We're the mighty foxes. Small and sly."

"Lions eat foxes."

"f**k you."

"f**k you too."

A dazzling grin spreads across his face as if he's amused by their conversation, and his eyes light up, sparkling a green that puts the newly budding trees to shame. "Aren't they playing each other, like, tomorrow or something?"

"I think so. Planning on watching it with me, Styles?"

"Maybe."

Louis bounces the ball in his hand. "Chelsea's still going to kick your arse. Don't think I'll take my cheering lightly just because there's a Leicester fan in the room."

"Bring it on. I can take a little screaming."

The back door of the house clicks open, capturing both of their attention. "Are you boys out here?" Harry's step mum sticks her head out of the glass door, appearing startled to see both of them talking within a reasonable distance without wrestling on the ground. "Oh, good. It's almost suppertime, boys. Start wrapping up so you can come inside."

Louis glances at the horizon, and, sure enough, the sky is turning a brilliant orange color. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't stay out too late boys," she warns again, just for good measure.

Noticing that Harry's full attention is on his mum, he drops the ball to his feet with a sudden urge to piss him off. How dare he think Leicester is better? He kicks it straight at Harry and it hits his stomach. A pained groan immediately leaves his lips as he doubles over, and Louis smirks.

"s**t," he wheezes.

"Louis, don't hit your brother."

"No promises." She disappears back inside, and he laughs at the boy clutching his stomach in pain.

"Why, you little s**t -" Kicks it back at him and he squeals, whipping around so that it hits his lower back, and he arches from it with a gasp. Skin continues to tingle when the ball bounces to a stop on the ground. "That's for Leicester, b***h!"

"Ow! Okay, no more intentional kicking."

Louis sighs, rubbing his back, and Harry genuinely tilts his head in what looks like concern, asking if he's okay with his eyes. He just nods curtly, chipping the football into the air and does a few juggles and a rainbow before punting it back to Harry. "s**t, you need to teach me how to do that."

"Why would I do that?" He challenges, folding his arms and c*****g his hip as Harry catches it easily in his large hands.

Harry gives him a pleading grin that may or may not have made his stomach flip. "Because you love your little brother?" he prompts. Uh, no. The giant red circle on his back says otherwise.

"Eh." Louis pretends to be disinterested, picking at his nails instead of looking at his face.

"Aw, c'mon, Louis. I've been nice. Teach me your methods. Don't I get a reward?"

Louis gives him a look. "What are you, a dog?"

"Please? We never learned to at my old club." His bottom lip juts out, head tilting every so slightly, and, damn. No. Not the puppy dog face. Between those hopeful, big green eyes and full lips, he can't say no. "I've always wanted to do a rainbow."

He sighs. "Alright."

Motioning him closer, he shows him how to line the ball up between his large feet and demonstrates the rolling of the ball onto the toe of his foot and then the kick back. "Then you just flick it up and over like that." He easily catches it on the top of his foot. And Harry tries to do it, but he just trips and it bounces backwards, so that the crinkles between his eyebrows deepen.

"Keep your hips straight." Louis advises, nudging Harry's foot out sit that he's in a more erect position.

"Maybe you should hold them." Harry supplies cheekily. "You know, like, in all of those cheesy movies. The teacher always gropes the student." Louis snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. This boy, he swears.

"Try it again. This time, try not to swivel too much."

After the first couple of times, he still hasn't managed to do it, but that doesn't concern him. He's got the technique well, but his kick up is weak in strength. He just needs to hit it at the right angle. "Don't worry, it just takes some practice -" Louis immediately halts when he gets it on the next one, and he sighs. Of course.

Harry smiles, pushing Louis' shoulder as if he just won the lottery. "I did it!"

"Yes, I can see that."

He attempts it once again, but messes it up and it rolls halfway between Harry and him. Louis calculates the distance quickly, smirking when Harry doesn't see him and rushes to steal the ball from him before he can get there, spinning away. "Hey!" He protests weakly.

"You snooze, you lose, Styles."

His legs still feel a little sore, and his movements are a smudge sloppy, but somehow he still outpaces Harry. Harry's lanky legs try to get it back, chasing after him, but Louis just shifts it away from his touch every time he makes a jab at him, and he visibly gets frustrated. Eventually, he just gives up, tossing his hands onto his knees and waving him off, panting. "You suck."

"Come on, Harry. Can't keep up?" he teases. "Or am I too quick for you?"

Harry watches him closely after that comment, eyes blazing, and he narrows them in concentration, dragging his tongue over his lip, calculating. Louis makes the mistake of hesitating to stare, and Harry lunges forward when he's not ready, nearly making him squeal. He tries to dodge the attack, but their legs tangle in the valiant attempt. Louis falls on his bum, and Harry's large body knocks the wind from his lungs when he lands right across his chest. It feels like getting hit with a brick ton of muscle, and somehow, when the world stops falling, he's met face to face with Harry and the sky. Louis' cheeks color when he notices just how close they are, and to fill the awkwardness he feels, he fixes his crooked glasses.

His hands shift in the grass beside his head. "Hello." His voice comes out a deep whisper, and Louis swallows.

Deciding that this is beyond his comfort, Louis squirms. "Seriously," he says, fumbling to unknot themselves after an awkward moment of silence. "How are you so good at football? You're so clumsy. You can't even stay on your own two feet. It literally makes zero sense."

"It's like bad writing."

"That it is."

"Boys, your food is getting cold!"

Their step mum shouts out at them through the back door again, and Harry stands up slowly, dusting the grass from his shirt. Then he reaches down for Louis, and he wastes no time grabbing it. There's a soft spark as they touch, but Louis shrugs it off. With a grunt, Harry yanks him up in one movement, and it's so forceful, he rocks a little on his feet and has to grab his bicep for a second to steady himself. It's solid, and Louis feels himself warm when he looks at him.

He quickly retracts his hand. "Sorry."

Harry looks down, twisting his neck to look at his backside. "You've got dirt on your bum."

Louis scrambles to twist in circles and brush it off. Only there is no dirt, and Louis whips back around with a displeased look only to see his smug face. He winks over his shoulder, and Louis' starting to wonder if he has a thing for his bum.

Harry squeezes past his mum in the doorway. "Hey, mum."

"Come on, Louis. Supper time."

The house is nice and warm when he enters, smelling of something delicious. His mum starts setting up the table, arranging the silverware and plates, and Harry sits down at the table, leaning back and pulling out his phone. His dad touches his shoulder from behind and motions into the living room. "Lou, can I talk to you for a second?" He frowns, but follows his dad into the living room.

It was meant to be a question just for Louis, but both Harry and his mum glance up. "Don't take too long, love. I already took the food out of the oven."

Once they're alone, his dad doesn't waste time. "I talked to Joe today about that meeting, and he said that Jake will be willing to meet you for coffee or something Thursday after school. I don't want to make you feel like you have to, but I think you should go. A half hour with this boy won't kill you."

Louis scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip. A rush of full-blown nerves clench his stomach, and he really wants to chicken out. Maybe it's not too late to change his mind. "Okay." Dammit.

Harry nudges him under the table when he gets back, expression curious. "What was that about?"

He just shrugs.

*********

After school Wednesday, he doesn't even bother to drop his bag off or say hi to Harry, immediately scurrying up the steps to his bedroom. He can't afford to waste any time. This is a life or death situation. He settles down on his bed, quickly turning the television in his room to the Leicester-Chelsea game. Only when the reception comes in does he breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. He can't wait to rub his team's victory in Harry's beautiful face.

Five minutes into the game coverage though, the knob to his door tweaks, and Harry slips in, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. Their eyes meet, and Louis raises an eyebrow. He thought he told him never to come into his room. His chest heaves in a breath, and he smiles, rattling the kernels in the bowl. It seems to be some kind of peace offering for violating his rules. "I figured I'd find you here. Care if you have some company?"

Louis wants to be mad. He does because he invaded his privacy, but he's not, so he just pats the bed beside him. Harry quickly lays down next to him, placing the bowl in front of him.

"I brought popcorn."

"I can see that." Louis reaches out and grabs a few, popping them in his mouth. "Thanks."

His green eyes wander over his walls, taking in the football posters and stickers lining it. "I like your room. Justin Bieber, nice choice."

Louis glances over his stepbrother when his gaze is locked on the wall, noticing that he's wearing a bright blue Leicester jersey. He snorts, flicking popcorn at him. "How dare you wear that repulsive thing in my room? I'm going to have to disinfect it later."

The kernels hit his face, making him blink and flinch in shock. "Oh, no you didn't." Louis shrugs. "You have no idea what you just started." Harry runs his fingers along the side of the bowl, gathering a substantial amount of grease before wiping it on Louis' cheek, and all Louis can do is gape.

"You arse!"

Louis pounces on him and rubs his cheek into his curls. They're so soft. It feels like clouds against his prickly scruff, and they smell like orchard apples. Not just any apples. The kind of apples you smother in cinnamon and sugar and bake inside a pie. It's almost really embarrassing that he wants to moan.

Harry screams and flails, trying to swat him off. "No! Not the hair!"

It quickly turns into a wrestle match, but it's not much of one really because Harry pins him easily. They both are breathing a little heavier as he grabs both his wrists in his hand and shoves them above his head with a triumphant smirk. "Leicester wins."

He doesn't even let Louis get a reply in as he moves to sit on his chest and pulls his feet in nonchalantly, nursing a can of pop he didn't even realize he had.

Louis grunts. "Harry, you weigh like five thousand pounds. You're crushing me! Get off!"

"Nope."

"I can't see the bloody screen!"

"Admit that Leicester is better, and then I'll let you sit up." d**k.

"I'd rather be crushed by your elephant bum."

"So be it." Ugh.

He suddenly smirks and makes a weird sound in the back of his throat, popping popcorn into his mouth. "Oh, would you look at that. It's starting." Only then does he hear the cheer of the crowd as they finish the national anthem, and he squirms, trying to see. All he does is manage to roll onto his stomach instead.

Desperate, he mumbles it, barely audible to human ears.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Leicester is the best."

"Damn right they are."

Harry finally steps off, and Louis huffs, sitting up and rubbing his chest. "I think you broke, like, all twelve of my ribs."

"You need a little pain."

"No, I really don't. My knee is killing me enough." It's not even an exaggeration. When he un-bends it, it sends rockets of pain up his spine. "Ow, ow, ow!"

Harry looks at him, motioning towards his leg as if asking for permission to do something. And Louis, being the curious s**t he is, can only nod, wondering just what he thinks he's going to do. Inserting his hand under his bare thigh, he gently pulls his leg into his lap and kneads the muscle around his knee, tongue poking out and eyebrows knitting tightly. It stings a little at first, but then he moves his thumbs up to work into his lower quad, and Louis doesn't even care about the game anymore.

His hands are like magic - his own personal pain killer. The skin to skin contact sets his skin ablaze, yet he breaks out in goosebumps, and Harry doesn't even comment about it. "We can't have our captain having a bad knee, now can we?"

He looks up with a grin, and all Louis can do is stifle a moan, lip nearly bleeding from how hard he's biting it. "Mhm."

The sound of the television speakers gets incredibly louder, and they both glance up. Louis feels pretty shitty about completely missing the first twenty minutes of the game. Though Harry doesn't stop, and he's pleasantly surprised to see that Chelsea had scored. "Ha! Suck it, Styles!"

His stepbrother's gaze falls back to his bruised knee. "I'd love to."

It takes a while for him to process what he said, and even then he's still confused. Louis blinks. "Wait . . . what?"

"What?"

Most of the rest of the half is silent between them, the only sounds coming from the television. But it's not awkward or tense. Harry adjusts him in his lap so he can watch better, and Louis just takes his leg back because he already feels so much better, and he doesn't want to take his attention from the game when he knows he wants to see it as much as he does.

At halftime, Harry mutes the tv, and Louis frowns. "I have a confession."

"You're bald," he guesses.

Harry smiles. "Uh, no."

"You've been abducted by aliens."

"No."

"Hm, you hide the bodies of your exes under the floorboards."

A snort of a laugh leaves his lips, but somehow it's still sexy. "What the hell? No. That's morbid."

"You have six toes."

"No, but I have four nipples."

His blue eyes widen. Well that's new. He doesn't remember that. Is he messing with him, or is he serious? "Are you sure you weren't abducted by aliens?"

"Eh." He tilts his hand back and forth in a shake, and Louis laughs. "But, again, not what I was going to say."

"You're so mysterious. Lay it on me."

Harry looks almost embarrassed. "I guess I should start with why I was acting like an arse when I first got here. I didn't know that I was going to have a stepbrother. I was surprised . . . after Sunday, I thought for sure that you were going to be a d**k, but you're actually pretty cool. And I guess I just wasn't prepared to have someone get shoved into my life."

"I don't get it. What's the confession?"

"It's been killing me." He takes a deep breath, fiddling with his fingers.

"What is?"

"This secret."

"Well, get on with it. Don't leave me in suspense."

He inhales sharply as if bracing himself. "I'm the one who kind of . . . maybe . . . set our parents up together."

Now it's Louis' turn to suck in a deep breath, sitting up. "What?"

"I set our -"

"No, I heard you the first time." His voice comes out a little snappy, and Harry looks offended, looking down into the popcorn instead of his eyes.

"It was an accident! My mum was making googly eyes at your dad, and I don't know! I just . . . you know, gave her a little nudge." He licks his lips, trying to compose himself, but Louis can tell he's nervous. "To be fair, I didn't know he had a kid. I just wanted my mum to be happy again. She hasn't been quite the same since my dad left us."

Louis stares off into space, at his Justin Bieber poster more appropriately because he doesn't know what else to do with his eyes. If he looks at Harry, he'll see guilt and if he looks at the door, he might take that as a cue to leave when he doesn't even know what he wants Harry to do. He can't help but think of all the times Harry's saved his ass already, and how despite their aggressive first impressions, he's actually kind of funny and sweet. But he's also the reason that they're stuck together, and the one who completely turned his life upside down in the course of a week. It makes his brain whirl in indecision.

Harry waves a hand in front of his face after a minute of silence. "Louis?" And he bites his lip when he looks up. "Are you mad?"

"I-I don't know. I don't know what to think."

Louis doesn't say anything else.

It clearly drives Harry mad. The silence. He ducks his head under his to look up at him, curls falling into his lap. "Louis," he sings.

"Harry."

He frowns, nudging Louis' stomach. And Louis squeaks, rubbing it. "C'mon, don't be like that. I didn't mess up that badly, right? This was before I even knew you existed. You can't be mad at me for that." He looks over him to keep watching the game. "You're very photogenic from this angle. Nice nostrils."

Louis picks up some popcorn and eats it. "Louis, stop ignoring me."

"Mhm."

"At least tell me if you're mad or not. I think I deserve that much."

Just to be difficult, Louis asks, "What if I was?" But he just sighs when Harry's face deflates. "I'm not mad. If I was mad, I would've left a long time ago."

Harry hesitates. "Good."

"And you'd be missing a finger."

Louis' pleased to see a hint of a smile on his lips now. "How would that happen?"

"I'd bite it off and slap you with it."

"Kinky."

He wrinkles his nose. "Ew. That's disgusting. I genuinely hope that you're not one of those people who actually gets turned on by that kind of stuff."

"That's for me to know," Harry chirps with a smirk.

"And me to never find out, right?"

"Well -"

The TV erupts in noises, and he sees the Leicester players celebrate, running to the corner and tackling a lanky player with scruffy hair to the ground. Harry nudges him and smirks, but he can see he's holding himself back as if to not upset him again. He didn't even know the second half started. "It's tied."

"Stupid Vardy," Louis grumbles.

"You know what would be amazing?" Harry suddenly questions, eyes trained on the ceiling.

"Uh, no."

"If we raided your dad's alcohol stash."

Louis gives him a reproachful look, not liking where this is going. "He doesn't have any."

"Then he's been lying to you. Every grown man has a stash somewhere." Harry crawls over him to jump off the bed and dart down the stairs. Louis looks hesitantly at the screen, but then he hears the cupboards opening and closing, and he quickly follows. His curly head ducks into every single space, bending over so his bum is in the air and his Calvin Klein underwear pokes out. Now, Louis' never been quite this close to another male his age besides Niall, and he's certainly not experienced when it comes to s*x, but, one thing he does know, is that Harry may be one of the sexiest people he's ever seen. And that's saying a lot since he knows what David Beckham looks like. That tanned waistline does stuff to him, and he really doesn't know why it makes him feel so warm. The worst part for him though, is knowing that he's not even trying to get his attention as easily as he is, yet he is.

"I don't think you should be doing this." Louis keeps a wary eye on the door just in case his dad comes out from the living room and catches them.

"You? I thought this was a 'we' thing. We're in this together, right?"

"I don't drink," he reminds him.

Harry halts his searching and looks over his shoulder. "Cover for me then."

"Haven't you had enough alcohol for one week?"

"I'll only admit I've had enough when my liver fails me." Louis frowns. That's entirely the wrong attitude to have towards your body. Especially one as nice as his.

Eventually, he finds one that he apparently approves of, and he grins, tilting the bottle so he can look at it. "s**t, your dad's got good stuff."

They both hear the couch creak in the other room, and Harry grabs his wrist, dragging him back upstairs.

"What is that?"

He grabs his cup and pours some into his coke. "Alcohol."

"Well, obviously," he snaps, rolling his eyes upwards.

"Jaeger. You want some?"

"I don't take handouts."

Harry smiles. "You don't trust me?"

"No."

"Shame. It's quite good."

He puts his cup back down with a satisfied sigh and then merely strips to his boxers. Right in front of him - with no remorse, and Louis blushes. "What the f**k are you doing?"

"Getting comfy. I warned you about my aversion to clothing. You should learn to get used to it."

If it was Niall, he wouldn't care. But this is Harry. And Harry is really pretty. He has some trouble keeping his eyes to himself, what with his bare skin so close to him and the fact that his shoulder brushes against him. Harry himself seems oblivious, wiping popcorn crumbs off the blanket. But he's so close that when he turns his head to look to him, he can practically taste the alcohol on his breath, and it makes his head feel dizzy. And he does something very stupid.

"Can I have some?"

Harry looks stunned, but reaches down and grabs the bottle. "Are you sure?"

Louis swallows. "Yeah."

His green eyes are bright, pupils swollen. Louis reaches out to take it from him, but he pulls it back, and Louis gives him a 'what the f**k' look. They lock eyes. "Maybe you should start slow?" He sets it back on the floor, and snatches his cup instead, handing it over. "Try this. It's not as strong."

Louis coughs when he takes a sip, but it quickly settles over his tongue, and when he runs it over his teeth, it doesn't taste half bad. "That's good," he giggles.

Throughout the rest of the game, he keeps stealing it from him, and it doesn't take long for his brain to feel fuzzy, tingling, but he likes it. He guesses that that must make him a lightweight. Either that or Harry has a strong tolerance after drinking so much because he doesn't seem to be affected much at all. Harry stares at him.

"Don't overdo it."

Louis grins. "You're a bad influence, Harry."

"Yeah, you're done." Harry takes it from him.

*********

When Louis becomes fully conscious again, he's aware of the strong bile clawing at his throat. Harry had passed out on the other end of the bed by the tv, and Louis' snuggling the whole head of the bed that's not currently being occupied by his stepbrother, socked feet on top of Harry's stomach. It's dark in his room, barely any light slipping in through the window, and Louis can guess that he missed supper. His head throbs violently and his stomach clenches and unclenches in a warning of what's to come. Panicking, he rushes over the figure to the trash can, immediately chucking up all the popcorn and coke he ingested. He feels awful. Worse than that time he had the stomach flu and couldn't leave his bathroom for five minutes. And for some reason, he just now remembers why he doesn't drink.

Louis' too busy with his head in the can that he doesn't notice he had woken Harry until he's just spitting anymore and breathing heavily. Then there's the soft creak of the floorboard under the carpet, and his stepbrother kneels next to him. He feels sticky and sweaty, the edge of his collar damp even though he took a shower right after practice. And when he stops vomiting, he feels his stomach cave and growl in protest for food, but he ignores it. He feels too nauseous to eat.

Harry's face is blank - eyes dark in the dim lighting, but he softly removes his glasses and puts them on the table.

"I'm sorry."

"Hey." He waits till Louis looks at him, touching his arm slightly. "It's okay."

Louis groans when he hears his deep voice so close to his ear. The vibrato of it sends soft shockwaves of pain to the back of his skull. "My head hurts."

"That shouldn't surprise you."

He shakes his head quietly, bashfully. "No."

Once he's sure that he won't puke by standing up, he goes to the bathroom, too embarrassed to do anything else. He really wishes Harry hadn't seen that. There's just something about seeing someone else like that - shaking and vomiting that makes him feel vulnerable. He quickly brushes his teeth to rid his mouth of the awful taste and stumbles back into his room. The bag in his trash can is tied and Harry's splayed across his bed, eyes closed and chest rising and falling steadily.

He peeks his eye open when he gets closer, and he gets up so Louis can flop down. It feels like a hug from God - so welcoming, despite the fact that he's hungry. Knuckles rasp on the edge of the doorway to get his attention.

"I'll be in my room." His voice is soft, yet gruff with sleep, and he's already got his clothes and the half-empty bottle of alcohol in his hands. "I think you'll be okay by yourself."

"You're not going to stay?"

Harry leans against the frame, staring at him levelly. "Why should I?"

Louis rolls over onto his stomach, looking up at him. He tries to think of something and pry his still messed up brain, but he comes up with nothing. He's really glad his eyes are nearly impossible to make out in the darkness. "You're warm."

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think I should. Goodnight, Louis." He doesn't even hesitate before turning and closing the door behind him.

He gapes at the blatant rejection but burrows under the covers and swallows, the taste of vomit still on the back of his tongue. It's a much more entertaining idea than trying to think when it feels like all his brain cells are dying. He hugs the pillow to his head, squeezing his eyes closed, and wills the pain away till everything turns blissful, and he finally passes out. He hopes this inspires him to never drink again.