The Brother I Never Wanted (Larry AU)

Chapter 16

Louis passes Harry in the hallway on the way to practice, easily recognizing the wide, muscular shape of his back and mane of dark curls. His shoulder is propped against the wall besides the entrance to the lunchroom, and Louis almost calls out to him before he realizes that his plump lips are moving and his dark green eyes are focused on someone in front of him. And he's even more crestfallen when his eyes fall upon the short, red colored uniform and long brown hair. Of course it's a cheerleader.

Harry doesn't even notice him, his body facing away from where Louis paused in the hallway momentarily, and he sighs. Apparently he's not walking with him to the locker room today. Despite the fact that he said he would this morning. Fabulous. Hiking his bag higher up his shoulder, Louis abandons the place the agreed to meet at and wanders into the locker room, greeting Niall as he drops his bag onto the bench.

"Hey, Lou. How was school?"

"The usual boring s**t," he answers easily, frowning as he undresses.

Niall glances up from where he's lacing his boots, tying it up tightly before walking over to his side. "What's wrong?"

"What makes you think there's something wrong?" Louis pulls up his shorts, gesturing to his locker. Why is Niall always so good at reading him? Maybe he'd just like to keep his thoughts inside. And Louis wouldn't say that there was really anything wrong. Harry wants to flirt with pretty girls. So what? Who doesn't? "Could you grab my shin guards? I think they're under my jeans somewhere."

Cocking his head, Niall hands over the plastic guards. "I don't know. You seem upset or something."

"Nope."

Niall gives him a reproachful look, moving back to his bag to grab his water bottle. He screws the lid and dumps the old liquid into the water fountain. "You can always come to me if you want to talk about it."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Is it Harry again? I thought you guys were getting along alright. I mean, last night you texted me saying that you guys were talking things over. Did it not work?"

Louis rubs at his eye, shoe in hand. "Nothing happened. Harry didn't do anything. I'm just . . . tired or something." And it's very true because Harry really didn't do anything. He was just being a teenage boy. Louis has no real reason to get upset because they're definitely not dating or anything stupid like that. "I got an A minus on my history test, so I'm still kind of pissed, but it's nothing."

His crystal blue eyes roll up in annoyance. "Only you would complain about an A minus."

"I like perfect grades. You know that."

"Unfortunately I do." Niall sits on the bench next to him, straddling it as he swings his legs and waits for Louis. "Speaking of the devil, where is he? Shouldn't he be here already? It's almost 3:15."

"I don't keep tabs on him 24/7 just because he's my step brother," he snaps.

Niall raises his hands. "It was just a question, Jesus. Man, you really are pissed. What did you do? Fight the teacher for extra credit?"

"Sorry."

"S'fine, Lou. Life is stressful sometimes. I get it." A vibration runs along the bench and Niall pulls his phone from his pocket. His face lights up as he reads whatever's on the tiny screen. "Oh, Looouuuuiiiiieeeee. Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"You know that I don't," he chuckles.

"How would you feel about a party?"

Louis looks at him in disbelief. "A party? How the hell did you get invited to a party? Who asked you?"

"Liam did," Niall brushes off with a shrug. "It's at his house at nine. And I asked if I could bring someone with me. He said he didn't care, so I would be delighted if my bestest friend came with me. Just this once." He finishes off his suggestion with a cheeky grin, leaning forward as if to persuade him.

"You have Liam's number?"

"Yeah, he's cool. He has a bad taste in friends though." His nose crinkles and Louis is immediately clued in that he means Zayn.

Honestly, Louis doesn't know what to think. Parties are not something that he's ever really had a desire to attend. I mean, what's appealing about drinking and doing drugs? Nothing, if you ask Louis. And he knows all the popular people are going to be there. "I don't know, Ni. A party . . ."

"Please?"

His eyes widen into a blue, watery pout that puts puppies to shame, and Louis groans. "I'll think about it."

"I'll take it," he laughs. "But please consider it. It's your senior year, Lou. You should get to experience senior life at least once before you graduate. I mean, in middle school it was like your dream to attend a high school party." Maybe, but that was before he started getting bullied. Not to mention, he has a highly valuable full-ride to college, and he really wouldn't like it revoked.

The door to the locker room opens, and the final stragglers rush in, Harry licking their heels and curls falling over his forehead. He catches Louis' eyes and shoots him a small smile as he opens his locker beside him.

"Hey."

The pulse under his skin gets faster, and Louis feels like slapping himself when he croaks out a small, "Hi."

Niall coughs out a knowing laugh into his fist, smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. Harry furrows his eyebrows and mutters a question asking why he's laughing, but Louis just thumps Niall's forehead. He knows exactly why he's laughing. He thinks Louis' whipped.

"I'll be waiting outside, Lou. Meet me when you're done."

He scrambles off the bench, swatting Louis playfully on the bum. Louis scowls, slapping his hands away. His face feels a little warm, most likely pink in embarrassment. Why does he have to have such a t**t for a best mate?

Harry stares curiously, eyes darting between his locker and Louis. He doesn't say anything though, and it fills the air with awkwardness.

They talked some yesterday and admitted some memories of his childhood, but he still doesn't really think of him as a brother-type figure. It's hard to explain. It was nice being able to talk to Harry like that and he has no doubt that Harry has softened substantially around him with how much he openly admitted. Like how he grew up playing football and his old friends. He even talked a bit about his dad and how close they were before he left his mum. But he still feels like a stranger to him. Like a cousin he just met.

Louis, realizing that he has been neglecting his shoes, tugs them over his feet and slips his glasses away where no one will steal them. That's actually happened before. He wouldn't like a repeat of that.

"Guess what I've got."

He looks up, and Harry nearly decks him in the nose to shove his phone in his face. His eyes cross as he tries to take in the blurry object right by his eyes. "Whoa."

He snatches it from his hands and holds it back a little so he can actually read it, and his eyebrows furrow as he makes out one word. Party. "What's this?" He knows what this is, but why is Harry showing him? Is he trying to rub the fact that he's friends with more popular people in his face?

"Liam's throwing a party. We should go. I already asked if I could bring a plus one."

"Let me get this straight," Louis breathes in befuddlement, the pieces finally clicking. "He said yes, and you want me to be your plus one?" Harry smirks. Well f**k him.

"You in or not?" He questions choppily, pulling his shirt up and over his head.

Louis looks away. "Um, n-no sorry. I think I'll pass." Even if he was certain - one hundred percent sure - that he was going, Niall had already asked him to go with him. He'd be an awful friend if he ditched him to go with his stepbrother, whom he's sure will leave him alone at the party anyway. Because, I mean, c'mon. Harry actually has a life.

Harry frowns. "Why not? I've already got the invitations. You just have to show up. And you don't have to drink or anything if that's what you're concerned about. I won't make you."

"I'd rather not," he blurts. It ends up coming out a lot harsher than he intended it to, and he immediately regrets wording it that way. It probably sounds like he would rather stay at home and do nothing than go with him. Which he definitely does not mean. He would very much like to do something with Harry sometime. It just can't be tonight.

"I put a lot of effort and consideration into this, and you just say you don't want to go?" Harry asks incredulously, frustration starting to seep into his words. "That's kind of rude."

"Look, I appreciate the offer. But I've already been asked."

Harry's face goes blank, anger seemingly diminishing, but he can't tell and that scares him. Would he be mad if he went with someone else? Because, technically, Niall asked him first. Surely there's some kind of social rule that can apply here.

"Ah, Harry!"

Trevor does some kind of fist bump with Harry and asks him if he's going to the party. His gaze passes boredly over Louis as he awaits an answer. Harry stares at him briefly then leaves with their teammate without so much as a 'goodbye' or 'see ya'. Louis didn't even know he was done changing. "Yeah, I'm going."

Well that hurts. Louis sighs and closes his locker, rubbing his hands over his face. Why is it that when they finally start to get along, something gets in the way and pushes them apart again?

*********

Somehow, at some point during practice, Harry had wandered his lanky body over to the completely wrong side of the field, water bottle rolling in his wrist. He's talking to a huddle of cheerleaders that are exercising on the track around them. Normally, he'd just let it go with a scowl, but his coach let him in charge while he ran to the equipment room for their colored jerseys, and Harry is most definitely not participating fully. And he definitely doesn't notice that he's whispering to the same one he was earlier.

Louis blows the extra whistle their coach had given him the day he became captain, causing most of the players nearby to jump. It was rather loud in the spring air. "Styles, get on the field! Your water break is over. If you aren't utilizing your time, then you don't deserve it. Give me five rounds of sprints. This is not social time."

Harry narrows his light green eyes at him, squirting some water into his mouth as if to spite him before tossing it on the ground and jogging back to midfield. That's not a good sign. He's definitely angry with him.

"Sprints. Go." He orders harshly.

Growling, Harry takes off from midfield - sprinting to the goal box and then jogging back. It's not his fault. If Harry insists on wasting his time, he's going to say something about it. A good captain doesn't show mercy just because the recipient of the punishment is his stepbrother.

When he's done, he's breathing roughly and his forehead glistens with sweat, wetting his curls despite the bandana. He should really consider just tying it all back. Louis bets he'd still look hot. His large hands find his knees as he bends over at the midline, a look that could kill directed straight at him. He swallows.

"Sorry, but I don't tolerate goofing off. This is not the recreational league. We are playing for the championships here. And I'm not going to treat you any differently than I would anyone else."

"I can see why everyone hates you," he grumbles, straightening and dragging his sweaty band out of his hair. He drags his long fingers through the tangled, damp mess before putting it back on and staring down Louis as he does so.

"Yeah, I'm a real f*****g jerk," he retorts sarcastically, blowing out a short screech of his whistle just to see Harry cringe. "Now get on the line. We're about to scrimmage."

*********

Louis doesn't even begin to understand what happens after that. It seemed to be all a really big blur that makes his head spin. It all occurred so fast and then all of a sudden it wasn't. All he knows was that he was minding his own damn business when it all went down. He doesn't deserve this s**t.

He's pacing back and forth along the goal line, seeking balls amongst the grass. He doesn't usually play the ball fetcher, but they have a sort of rotation and everyone has to contribute to it. Otherwise there'd be some people who would never get to play, and that wouldn't be fair. So Louis just sucks it up and deals with the boredom, sometimes scuffing his toe along the grass just to entertain himself. And apparently it gets his partner antsy too.

His figure is tall in comparison to him, causing his heart to stutter. Every time he looks over, he swears he's getting closer. The coach never notices things like that though, so he's not even the least bit surprised when the black-haired lad steps repeatedly on the heels of his cleats.

Louis does his best to ignore the prodding, walking just that little bit faster to get out of his range of footsteps as he rushes to stop a ball from going into the tall grass behind them. One of the players raises his hand, and Louis places a perfect pass to his feet so he can place it on the line for a goal kick.

A flick of a finger on his glasses startles him from the game, knocking into his eyebrows almost painfully. Louis sniffs and pushes them back onto the bridge of his nose irritably. "Don't."

All he gets in response is a smirk and more fingers prodding him to the point where it was starting to drive Louis insane. How could someone possibly be so f*****g annoying? Does he get some kind of sick pleasure out of seeing Louis squirm? Because it's not f*****g funny at all.

Connor ruffles his fluffy hair, and that's when he snaps. "Stop it!"

"Or what, little gay boy?"

"I'll beat your ugly face in."

His eyes contort first in shock, then anger. Maybe Louis shouldn't have said that. Connor brings his leg back, and that's when he realizes that he most definitely should've kept his mouth shut. His large foot connects with his bad knee and white hot pain shoots up his leg, making sparks appear behind his eyes. Louis yelps, whimpering as he limps backwards in an attempt to distance himself or at least make it to where the coach will notice. He doesn't make it far.

"I wonder what Coach will do if he finds out that his star pupil is injured again." He taps his chin once, seemingly as if he were thinking, but Louis knows he knows exactly what will happen by the sick grin on his face.

Louis' heart races with adrenaline, senses turning everything sharp and for a second the pain stops. His hand reaches out to grab the front of Louis' jersey, fingers just grazing the material when he half-jumps, half-limps out of the way. He panics, knowing full well that he is completely serious and could definitely get him out of the way.

"Harry!" he screams, falling onto his bum when he trips on a rock and crawling towards the sideline. Nothing happens, and Louis looks around frantically, but he can't tell which one is Harry. His brain feels like it's scrambled. And he knows that his coach is on the other side of the field.

Connor snickers, stepping on his foot so that he's trapped. "Aw, you're calling out for your little brother to come and save you. How cute . . . And utterly pathetic." He grinds down harder on his boot, and Louis bites his lip. "I bet he doesn't even know that you're a fag. And if he did, he probably wouldn't come and save you. It must be so embarrassing to have such a disappointment for a brother."

"Please stop."

"I don't think so. I'm not finished with you yet."

His hand suddenly reaches down and grabs a hold of his hair, yanking him to his feet. He whines loudly, eyes burning as he feels tears prickle at the back of his eyes. Why does this have to happen to him? What's so wrong with liking the same s*x? Harry said it was wrong to pick on him for being gay, so it should be, right?

"Harry!" he cries again, voice cracking as he claws at his finger.

"He's not going to help you, princess." He makes him stand straight, foot repeatedly nudging his knee. It sent streaks of pain through his body. "Now hold still or you'll get more than a busted knee."

Suddenly there's the sound of footsteps coming closer, and Louis is taken from Connor's grip. It hurts a little, his bully's fingers pulling on his scalp as his fingers are ripped out of his hair. But he doesn't mind because then he gets a whiff of grass, sweat, and cologne. He's steered behind the new figure, and Louis clings to the back of his jersey, pressing most of his weight on his good leg.

"Give me a good reason why I shouldn't rip your head off your f*****g neck," a low voice snarls above him, curls tickling his cheek. Louis' never been more grateful to feel an irritation on his skin.

"What? Are you his girlfriend now too?" Louis nervously looks up at Harry, seeing that his face is red and his hand is shaking near his hip. "I wouldn't have taken you as a fag too, Styles. It's a shame. I actually kind of liked you. But I see that the disease is spreading."

Louis feels Harry's side twitch, and he tugs softly on his jersey in a warning. "Harry, don't. You'll get in trouble."

Harry's flaming eyes meet his briefly, and with his pleading eyes, he backs off. His large hand spans his lower back as he lets Louis use him as a crutch. But the peace doesn't last long.

"Go suck his dick."

Then his crutch is gone from his grip, and Harry's tackling Connor to the ground. His legs move to straddle his midsection, and his fist connects with the side of his face, back heaving in anger. It's kind of scary honestly. He remembers what happened the last time Harry punched someone. His eyes go wide, and he hobbles further up the field, cringing every time he heard the crack of Harry's fist.

A couple of players slow, halting when they see what's happening down the field. He hears a couple of, "Holy shits" and "f***s" come from the other players, and it's only when about half the team is gaping that his coach finally notices Louis' waving arms.

He drops the clipboard immediately and rushes to the two boys, pulling Harry off with a strangely large amount of force. Louis can honestly say that this is the first time he's ever felt bad for his bully. His cheek and left eye are completely swollen, to the point where Louis' sure he can't see, and there's some blood dribbling from his lip and his nose. He shivers. What if Harry ever got mad at him like that? He's pretty sure he'd kill him. Harry spits on Connor one last time, fighting the coach's grip on his arm.

"What the hell is going on?"

His eyes are hard and dark as he glares at Harry, and Louis drops his head with a sigh. He told Harry to just let it go, but he didn't. And now he has to face the wrath of their coach. He despises any kind of physical violence. It's almost kind of ironic.

He tunes out most of what his coach says to him, too focused on studying Harry's face. Louis just finds it hard to believe that Harry had actually done that. Connor is obviously an arse, but even he didn't deserve that. And Louis has no doubt that he'll get more than a slap to the wrist.

"Both of you." His coach points to both Connor - who is now being hauled to his feet by teammates - and Harry. "Are suspended for the rest of the week. You can practice at home. In fact, I encourage you to. But don't even think about coming to school. That behavior is completely unacceptable."

Harry's eyes darken and he knocks his elbow from his grip, headband once again slipping out of his curls. He doesn't even bother to fix it, outrage consuming his features. Even Louis gapes a little. A week? The most punishment he's ever seen was two practices of suspension. And for just standing up for Louis? That's just not fair.

"But, sir -"

"Rules are rules, Tomlinson. I have no choice." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Someone take Mr. Schmidt to the nurse's office. Styles you're dismissed from this practice. Tomlinson, if you need to take your brother home, you may leave as well."

All of their teammates follow their movement off the field with their eyes; Louis can feel it. He stumbles alongside Harry, about to complain that he's moving too fast when he slows, letting Louis grab onto his jersey once again. It's such a gentle, unexpected move that the guilt only builds in the pit of his stomach because he looks so pissed.

"I'm sorry," Louis mumbles. "You shouldn't have gotten in trouble." And it's true. It wasn't fair at all. Harry was just protecting him. Although, the punching was a little excessive.

Harry says nothing.

Louis bites his lip. "Do you want some ice cream? I'll let you drive."

"Please just leave me alone."

At this point, there's really only one thing that he can think of that would make it up to him. "We can go to the party together, okay? I'll just tell Niall he can take someone else."

"I already asked someone else."

Something caves in his chest, and he tries his best not to look disappointed. "Oh." It doesn't matter though. He's going to that party. And he's going to make him forgive him.