Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Fuck, I can’t believe I did that,” Harry groans. “Honestly, Harry, what the fuck were you thinking?” he mumbles to himself as he trudges up the stairs to Liam’s front door, reliving the desperate kiss he so stupidly gave Louis earlier back at his house before his father walked in on them. 

So much for a bathroom providing any form of privacy. 

Completely dreading this boys’ night, Harry decides he needs to suck it up and not mope around in his room constantly going over, oh, just every single decision he’s ever made in football, as he waits on the outcome of the scholarship. It’s time for him to put on a facade and act as if everything is fine, flash a pseudo smile here and there, when in reality he isn’t sure how else to move forward or what to do with himself.

Harry scrubs a hand across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and ruffling his hair before sighing heavily through his mouth. Here goes nothing. Act normal, Harry. It’ll be fine.  

Without knocking, he opens the door and walks towards the living room, poking his head in while holding up the case of beer he brought. “Brought some—oh.”

The second Harry’s eyes land on Louis, his face crumples and he freezes. The other boys greet him, but he can’t seem to actually process what anyone is saying because he can’t get the very deliberately placed arm Liam has wrapped solidly around Louis’ stomach out of his mind. To make matters worse, Louis happens to be sitting on Liam’s lap without a care in the world, as if this is a completely normal occurrence. Is it? A vicious voice in his head chimes in, unnecessarily. 

It shouldn’t hurt him as much as it does, it really shouldn’t. He knows what he had with Louis is over, nor was it ever official. So why does it hurt as though it was? 

But the longer Harry stares, the angrier he becomes. Like picking at a metaphorical scab, he can’t tear his eyes away from every place Louis’ body comes into contact with Liam’s. It’s sickening really, how wrong this all is. Louis shouldn’t be sitting on Liam’s lap, he should be sitting on Harry’s. Curled up against his chest in his rightful spot where he belongs, god damn it.

He thinks he’s going to be sick. 

That quickly, the minuscule shred of confidence that he could come here, pretend that everything was fine and have a normal night, was absolutely nowhere to be found. He didn’t know if he could do this, after all. His skin stung with hurt, as if everywhere Louis was touching Liam, that he wasn’t touching Harry, was suddenly burning. He had to go, had to leave.

“Going to the bathroom,” he mumbles, solemnly standing and storming out of the room, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get out, out, out. 

Once in the loo, Harry eyes himself in the mirror. God, Harry, you need to pull yourself together. Bracing both hands on the counter and hanging his head, he breathes deeply through his nose and blinks his stinging eyes, shaking his head as if to get rid of what awaits him in the other room. He quickly splashes a handful of water on his face before slowly turning, squaring his shoulders, and heading back out the door. When he opens it, he stands in the hallway quietly, listening to the conversation going on back out in the living room. 

“No, but you got all tense when you saw him watching you. Louis, stay relaxed,” he hears Liam sternly tell Louis, and he feels his heart clench. 

“I can’t relax!” Louis exclaims, animated as always, and then Harry hears rather than sees how he slaps a hand over his mouth as if trying to contain his outburst. “Shit,” he hears Louis whisper, once he seemingly realizes everyone’s looking at him. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Liam replies, with an audible eye roll.

Just as he is deciding whether or not he wants to turn back around, Louis finally looks up and his eyes widen in shock once he locks eyes with Harry standing frozen in the hallway. 

Before Harry can open his mouth, Louis huffs before he gets up and storms away. Finally disentangling himself from Liam’s arms (to which Harry feels a vicious stab of pleasure that he subsequently tamps down— not the time, Harry ), and grabbing a beer bottle from the table, Louis brushes past him and heads directly up the stairs. 

Confused at the night’s turn of events, Harry is still frozen in the hallway as his head spins, unsure of whether or not to follow Louis upstairs so they can maybe, finally, talk things out. 

“Mate,” he hears Niall clear his throat. “You should really go up and talk to him. He’s been… you should just go and talk to him.” Niall’s clear blue eyes are soft, almost apologetic, when they rest on Harry’s face.

This startles him out of his stupor, and he can’t do much more than stutter, “y- yeah, ‘course,” in a small voice before he shakes his head, turns, and rushes up the stairs to follow Louis. 

He’ll always follow Louis. 

As he gets closer to Liam’s door, he hears muffled screaming from what he assumes is Louis throwing a temper tantrum. A corner of his mouth quirks, then. So dramatic is this boy, his boy, he thinks, and he feels a twinge in his chest. 

His half-smile turns a bit sad as he opens the door and shuts it softly behind him, walking closer to the bed and sitting down next to Louis’ legs before resting a gentle hand on his knee. Not finding it in himself to speak yet, Harry sits there in silence staring at the back of Louis’ head and listening to him breathe erratically, arms clutching the pillow underneath him closer to himself. Slowly, he inches his hand up, then lightly strokes his knee, awkwardly patting Louis’ leg. 

God, Harry thinks, I’ve missed him. Even being this close, in his space, feels like a release and torture at the same time. 

Oh, how he wants to gather Louis into his chest and just hold on until things are okay again.

Suddenly, Louis chucks the pillow away from himself and sits up with his hair looking adorably disheveled. Cute, Harry’s brain supplies unnecessarily, he’s so fucking cute. He keeps his hand where it is on Louis’ thigh and notices him stare down at the contact in confusion. 

“What are you doing?” he hears the blue-eyed boy whisper. 

Harry keeps his eyes downcast, brows pinching together as he tries to get his thoughts together, because he knows that the honest truth is that he doesn’t even understand himself. His eyes follow Louis’ to where they are touching, and he strokes his thumb subconsciously along the curve of his leg. His hand feels disconnected from his body, but he distinctly realized that he never wants to not be touching Louis. 

Deciding to forego what the actual issue is, as seems to be their preferred method of dealing with their problems, Harry instead finds himself letting his jealousy take charge and blurts out the first thing his mind supplies.

“Why were you sitting on Liam’s lap?” He spits, more harshly than he’d intended. Louis flinches back slightly and Harry feels a dull pang somewhere in the region of his heart. His finger twitches toward Louis, aching to comfort, to soothe. 

Silence.

He knows it’s not smart. Knows he shouldn’t push. But, “Louis…” he grits. “Why were you sitting on Liam’s lap?”

The tension is thick, and Harry feels all of his anger from the uncertainty of his scholarship and relationship with Louis compounding and bubbling up inside him. He looks at him, swallowing, eyes boring into the other boy.

Instead of answering, Louis reaches out and clutches Harry’s jaw, before yanking the green-eyed boy’s face to his and planting a bruising kiss on his lips. Harry makes a high sound of surprise and freezes, unsure of whether or not he wants to indulge Louis or stop it. But, as if he ever even had a choice, his brain makes the decision for him, and out of habit he opens his mouth and kisses Louis back earnestly. 

The kiss quickly becomes heated, but there’s something that feels off. Through his fuzzy thoughts, he realizes Louis never answered his question and is instead deflecting, as if he’s hiding something. And even worse, Harry fell for it in a heartbeat.

Gasping out a breath, he regretfully pulls back. “What are you doing?” he asks, his anger starting to bubble back up once he is no longer connected to Louis. 

Louis’ face instantly crumbles. He looks down at his lap and begins twisting his fingers.

“Lou… Louis?”

The other boy squeezes his eyes shut and turns away. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I am so sorry.” 

“About what, Louis?” Harry asks, confused at his reaction. “Lou… you can tell me anything, you know that.”

“I can’t tell you,” Louis whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

No.

What?

A million different scenarios run through Harry’s mind as to what Louis could possibly be referring to. Each is even worse than the last. 

Did he sleep with someone else? Was he lying about that? Did he actually sleep with Jasmine at the party? He saw the shirt, for all he knows Louis could have lied about the events of that night too. But, he trusted him. He couldn’t have — could he?

“It hurts more by you not telling me the truth,” Harry chokes out, eyes beginning to water. “Stop dragging this out Louis, fucking hell.” If this is what he thinks it is, then he needs Louis to just rip off the band-aid.

After a moment, Louis looks up, finally, finally looks at Harry for the first time all night. 

God, he missed those beautiful blue eyes.

“I got into Manchester University, Harry,” Louis whispers. 

And, damn if that doesn’t hurt. Even more because—of all of the things, of all of their problems, all of their fights—this was the last thing he expected him to say. “I found out this morning,” Louis hurriedly continued, crying. “I’m so sorry… you can still get in, Harry, I know you can! But you know I have to accept the offer—you know why. Football is all I have. Football is it for me. And, H, it’s a full scholarship, I can’t just not take it. I’m- I’m just not made to do anything else, Haz…” he trails off, “but you could be.”

Harry can’t do anything but stare, open-mouthed, at Louis. He can’t help but notice how pretty he looks—shining eyes, disheveled hair, staring up at Harry like he’s the sun when it’s Louis who is. Louis, who has lit up Harry’s life, and could leave it dark just as easily, the sun returning behind the clouds and leaving him cold. He realizes, distractedly, that his eyes are watering. When did that happen? And, more importantly, why won’t it stop?

“Say something, Haz…” Louis whispers, finally meeting Harry’s eyes again. As if the very thought of looking at him will make the words he said disappear, as if he can press comfort into him with his gaze. “Say something, please.” He chokes out, shoulders shaking with uncontrollable tears as he is wracked by a fresh round of sobs. 

It’s not that he’s unhappy for Louis, not in the slightest. Quite the opposite, in fact. It just stings. Hell if it makes him seem like a bad person, seem selfish. But that scholarship should’ve been his. It stings because he knows he has better leadership skills. He knows he’s more consistent and not as unpredictable. It should’ve been his. 

But apparently, he was wrong.

That being said—he can’t not be happy for Louis. Louis is—well, Louis is everything to Harry. He’s the love of his life, even if he hasn’t outwardly told him that yet. He’s always going to be rooting for him no matter what his own outcome is. He just thought (irrationally, idyllically, he now realizes) that maybe they’d be able to do it together, like the dream team they are. 

“I- Louis, I’m so happy for you,” Harry finally gets out, past the lump in his throat. “I mean, of course, it changes my plans, I guess, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still be happy for you, Lou.” He takes a shaky breath.

Louis is still—he’s still looking at Harry like that, and Harry’s heart feels like a balloon expanding, like it’s becoming too big for his chest, and he feels his head start ringing. He feels nearly hysterical now as he takes in Louis and slowly begins to piece together how he’s been acting. 

You’re also not the only player on the team looking to get into Manchester. 

Manchester. 

Manchester.

Through the mantra echoing in his head, he chokes out, “But, Lou, I’m confused. You should be happy, this is your dream come true.” He looks up and catches a flash of—was that panic?—in Louis’ eyes. Harry’s heart double times. 

He doesn’t want to know. He needs to know. “Why do you seem so upset?”

And then, the words that explained the real reason why Louis was acting like this, the rug ripped out from underneath Harry's feet, the final thread tethering his tenuous control of himself. 

“I’m- I… I- uh. I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” 

Louis is staring at a point just to the left of Harry’s head, and Harry feels the absence of blue eyes on his face like a phantom limb ripped from his body.

“What? What do you mean you ‘don’t know if you can do this anymore’? Do- do what, Louis?” He exclaims, and he feels a flash of embarrassment at the pleading tone of his voice. But he can’t help it, because, what? Harry feels his hopes for them, the delicate dreams they had started to cautiously share, slipping through his fingers like the final seconds ticking away on the scoreboard.

“You know what, Harry.” 

“No, Louis. I don’t. So why don’t you just say it.”

“Don’t make me say it,” Louis whispers, his hands shaking nervously at his sides. 

Harry yearns to reach out and hold them, to stop their trembling.

“Say it,” he grits out, the tears collecting in his eyes threatening to dampen his cheeks. His stomach feels like it’s simultaneously falling out of his ass and rising into his throat, and he feels caught, frozen. He can’t move, can’t get away from what he knows Louis’ answer will be. Some visceral part of him longs to run from it, escape the inevitable. 

He stays still.

“Us,” Louis chokes out. “I don’t know if I can do us.” 

Even expecting it, the words still knock the breath out of Harry. 

“What happened to the kiss on the field, the look that you gave me?” He lets the tears that have been collecting spill over, sliding down his cheeks. He feels like clawing, like clinging. At Louis. At them. “You looked at me like it, like it meant something, Lou… you can’t just throw this away.”

But Louis has frozen. He doesn’t seem to be able to breathe, much less speak, and Harry’s crying now, audibly and harshly, and reaching. Reaching out as if he could catch Louis and hold onto him forever. But he can’t.

Louis takes half a step backward, as if stunned, and shudders. 

“I- H. I’m so sorry. You don’t understand how much. I just,” his voice breaks. “I can’t… I need to focus on football, and- and,” his breath runs out, and now he’s crying too. 

“I just can’t,” he whispers and turns away from Harry’s reaching hands and walks out the door, the implied ‘be with you’ hanging in the air and crowding into Harry’s ears until all he can do is wrap his arms around himself and grasp the pillow Louis had been laying on earlier, trying to cling to the last pieces of him, the smell of his shampoo and the salt of his tears, as the door clicks shut behind Louis’ rushed footsteps. 

Chapter Text

“Fuck,” Harry pants, chest still heaving, from his position on his back on the bed. “That was—this was—the last time, I’m serious.”

“Whatever you say, H,” the man, who is still leaning over Harry’s body, breathily shoots back. The corner of his mouth pulls into a smirk as his eyes lazily rove over Harry’s sweaty chest, and the prominent marks littered around his collarbones. “You tell me that after every time, and yet, you haven’t stopped coming back.” Harry swats at his shoulder in a move to get out from underneath him and makes a face, scrunching his nose and narrowing his eyes as he looks up at the man. His eyes momentarily catch on the blue ones above him, and then quickly dart away, rolling instead up to the fan lazily spinning on the ceiling. 

Harry feels a pang somewhere in the region of his heart. He ignores it.

“Shut up,” Harry mumbles weakly as he gets up from the bed in search of his clothes. The carpet is warm on his feet, but Harry’s body feels cold as if there’s something, someone, missing, and it’s making him even antsier to leave before the guilt begins to creep in. 

At this point, he’s used to the feeling. Knows how to move fast enough, keep far away enough, not to let it creep too far in. He doesn’t let himself think about what it all means. 

“Oh, you want me to shut up? How about you come back here and make me,” the older man says with a wink. Harry scoffs, but despite the cliche he can’t help but register a tug of arousal at the base of his spine at the words, at the rough tone of them. His annoyed sound abruptly cuts off into a choked whine as the man reaches over and smacks Harry’s ass as Harry is maneuvering his way by him, still in search of the skinnies he had worn (albeit briefly) last night. 

Harry spins away and rolls his eyes, trying to conceal the blush rising on his cheeks at the contact and, more importantly, his reaction to it. He slides his pants up his legs while he tries to remember where they threw his damn jeans. “I don’t even think you’d be able to handle another round if I did, old man.”

“Oh really? You sure weren’t complaining about my old age when you were calling me daddy this morning,” he quips, raising a pointed eyebrow in Harry’s direction. Harry’s already red cheeks darken further.

“Yeah, well, daddy, I’ve got to go.” Harry snarks, still rushing around the small bedroom, collecting the rest of his clothes that were haphazardly thrown throughout the room and putting them on as fast as he can. “I’ve got footie practice soon, do you mind locking the door when you leave?”

“I mean, I guess …” the older man smirks. “Unless… you want to have some more fun when you come back?” 

“Lock the door when you leave, Beckett, I’m not trying to get robbed,” Harry shoots him a stern look as he grabs his gym bag. “The ‘shitty college flat’ lifestyle might not be quite what you’re used to, but it doesn’t mean I want to come back to my place trashed. Besides, don’t you have things to do today?”

“You’re no fun, H,” Beckett says with an exaggerated sigh. The words are teasing, but for some reason at that moment they strike a chord with Harry. He is no fun. All he does is mope, do schoolwork, go to practice, and, well, whatever you would consider this. 

What has his life come to?, he wonders to himself.

“Whatever, but I’m serious. If you want to fuck me tonight, you’ll lock the door when you leave.”

Harry can practically feel the smug expression from across the room, even before the teasing tone the older man gives him, “oh, yeah? What happened to ‘this was the last time’, hmm?” 

“Shut up. I’m serious.” Harry’s face flushes red once more as he gathers his footie gear. Great, he muses, his argument skills have been reduced to that of a child. But, Harry supposes, he truly doesn’t have any excuse for his actions. So why does he feel like he needs one?

Finally leaving his room with all clothing pieces hastily reassembled, he stumbles his way into the loo to make himself at least slightly more presentable before leaving for practice. He decides not to shower, because he figures he’ll just be sweaty again after practice anyway, but uses the bathroom before washing his hands and brushing his teeth. He quickly washes his face and puts on some deodorant, deeming the clothes he’d put back on to be clean enough for the ride to the football pitch. He then walks into the kitchen to make himself a quick cup of tea to take with him on the drive to campus and a granola bar to at least get a little bit of energy back after a rather, erm, cardio-intensive morning. 

He’s so focused on making his tea just right that he doesn’t hear the footsteps slowly padding into the kitchen behind him. 

“So…” the unannounced voice makes Harry jump and whip his head around towards the blonde shuffling towards him, sporting ratty sweatpants and dark circles under his hazel eyes. “Sounds like someone had a very fun morning,” he drawls slowly. “And, for that matter, a very fun night, too. Judging by how you sounded, someone’s giving it to you good, eh?” A quirk of the blonde’s eyebrow and the lilting tone of the question accompanies the subtle ribs at Harry.

Harry nearly spits out the sip of water he had just taken. “I- I didn’t know you were home,” he says softly, sheepishly. He decidedly dodges the question as he flushes once more, eyes moving away from the boy in front of him and turning his gaze to the floor in embarrassment. He truly didn’t know, is the thing, and now he feels like he wants to evaporate right through the ceiling considering the things his roommate must’ve heard through their thin, shitty walls.

“That’s not what I asked,” Aiden presses, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who now stands hunched inwards with his arms across his chest as if hugging himself, and his toes pointed slightly inwards.

“What were you doing, listening? You—you freak.” He splutters, aiming for a joking tone but failing miserably.

“More like you’re so damn loud that it literally woke me up, seeing as it’s seven o’clock in the morning.” 

Harry winces lightly. He blinks, wide-eyed, at the other boy, unable to come up with anything to make this situation better other than mumbling his denial, which is seemingly directed at the countertop, “...you’re lying. I’m not that loud.”

“Yeah,” Aiden deadpans, looking Harry in the eyes with a blank face, “you are. My alarm literally hasn’t even gone off. Instead I woke up to,” Aiden clears his throat, “other things.” Harry would really like to disappear right about now.

“Y’know what…” Harry trails off, looking back down at what he was doing to escape the knowing eyes boring into him and pouring his perfectly crafted tea into a travel mug. “I do not have time for this, Aiden. I’m already running late.”

Aiden raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah, and whose fault is that?”  

At this, Harry’s shoulders sag and his head drops. He feels resigned, and his tone comes out dull when he admits, “mine, I know. I know you probably think I haven’t been making the smartest decisions lately, and we just met, so god knows what you probably already think of me, but-” Aiden interrupts Harry with a hand over his, which is gripping the counter with white knuckles. The first friend—maybe friend? almost friend?—I’ve made at Leeds, and he already thinks I’m a terrible person. Nice going, Harry. He thinks. 

Aiden’s voice interrupts the spiral of negative thoughts, and to his surprise, it comes out significantly gentler than it was just seconds ago. “Whoa, H, hey. Slow down.” Aiden’s thumb strokes the back of Harry’s hand on the counter, and Harry’s shoulders relax infinitesimally at the contact. “I’m taking the piss, mate. You can do whatever you want, there’s no need to defend yourself to me.”

“But,” Harry starts, and Aiden immediately shushes him. 

“Harry. I’m serious.” The other boy chuckles and nudges Harry’s shoulder with his own. “You know, I meant to tell you this earlier, but I’m happy for you.” Aiden must read the confusion in Harry’s face, because he quickly elaborates, “I’m happy that you found someone. For what it’s worth, you seem a lot happier than usual. Not as… gloomy.”

“Gloomy? What are you on about, mate?” Harry’s brows furrow, not seeming to understand where Aiden is trying to go with this. 

“I dunno, just… since you moved in, you seemed a bit off, I guess.” Aiden elaborates, hesitantly. His eyes slowly raise to meet Harry’s, and they look almost apologetic. “I figured,” he continues, “that was just normal for you? Because we had just met, y’know, and that was the only way I had ever seen you. But now, I’ve seen how every so often your mood will change, and you seem so much lighter. It really is nice to see.” 

Perfectly crafted tea long forgotten, Harry frowns and thinks back over the last few months since moving in, wondering if his demeanor really has changed as much as Aiden seems to think. It’s not his fault that he’s been moping around because a certain someone decided to drop everything they had without a proper explanation while shattering Harry’s heart in the process. 

Or maybe because that certain someone never reached out after leaving him an utter pathetic mess, crying in their friend’s bed. 

Or maybe because he’s still in love with that certain someone… 

There’s absolutely no reason that boy should be plaguing his mind. Especially after the way things ended. Why should Harry be the one still longing after someone who simply tossed him to the side and has not once looked back? Or reached out? 

And—why does it still hurt?

He’s abruptly broken out of his memories full of blue eyes and heartbreak by Aiden’s voice, sounding hesitant again. “Uh…Harry?,” he gently squeezes Harry’s hand where his is still placed on top of the other boy’s. “Are you alright? I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t mean to upset you.”

Coming back to reality slowly as his misty eyes refocus, Harry finally looks up and stares at the other boy with an impassive expression on his face. “Sorry, I uh I- I just have to go, I’m going to be late,” he stammers out, ripping his hand out from underneath Aiden’s where they rest on the counter. 

Harry can’t be here anymore. 

He feels like he’s been punched in the gut, all of the things he’s been trying so hard not to think about suddenly pushing back into him in a sharp rush. After his escapades this morning, he just feels…tired. Tired, dirty, and used. And, not in the way he likes. His lungs feel like they’re being constricted and his eyes begin to sting. He feels an overwhelming need to leave, right now. His entire body has tensed, every muscle screaming at him to get out, get out.

Through the echoing in his ears, he hears Aiden protest. “Wait, H, I thought we were riding toge—” but Harry doesn’t hear any of the rest of that sentence because instead, he rushes out the door to his car before Aiden can catch up to him, carelessly throwing his gym bag over his shoulder. Leaving not only his perfectly crafted tea behind, but the granola bar as well. So much for sustenance. 

Eyes still stinging, Harry makes a beeline for his car. Once he reaches the driver's side, he lets out a loud sigh as he unlocks the door. He quickly hops inside and puts the key into the ignition, turning the car on borderline violently in his quest to get out. He absolutely cannot let Aiden catch him crying; he’s done enough damage already today to that relationship. He pinches the bridge of his nose as his eyes flutter shut, and inhales deeply before dramatically dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. C’mon, H, get it together, he thinks, as he slowly lifts his head before taking a last deep breath and throwing the car into reverse. 

He swerves out of his spot in front of the flat and speeds off in the direction of campus, now in a foul mood and fully dreading the practice that’s about to come. He is not in the right state of mind to play football right now, especially when all it ever makes Harry think of is him, damn it.

Despite his hectic morning and roommate heart-to-heart of sorts, thankfully Harry isn’t even late when he makes it to campus. He parks his car in the lot and jogs over to the locker room to change into his practice kit. As soon as he makes his way into the locker room, he averts his eyes to the floor and sets about changing as quickly as humanly possible, stripping the clothes he had thrown on this morning in seconds flat. All locker rooms look the same, including this one, so he tries valiantly not to pay attention to anything around him while he gets dressed; he can’t let anything catch his eye, not if he wants to keep his mind from continuing down the spiral it was in this morning. His teammates make fun of him for it, “Harry must be a magician, mate, we never see him in the locker room but somehow he’s always the first one out on the field, changed before practice even starts. How the hell does he do it?”

All that the Leeds locker room ever makes Harry think of is another, similar locker room. Of what happened on the floor, against the lockers, in the shower. Of who it happened with. 

Luckily, Harry has learned his lesson about spending too long in the locker room. He stuffs his bag into his locker, and he’s already changed and making his way out to the pitch in five minutes flat. 

He sets his water bottle down on the bench and begins to stretch to loosen up his muscles in preparation for this long practice. He has to get himself ready to work hard this season; he’s lucky enough to be here and have a spot on the team, and he has to work harder than ever to prove himself. Despite his relative lack of care for his body this morning, there’s no time like the present to fix that, he figures. He might not have his painstakingly brewed tea or granola bar—forgotten in his blurry-eyed rush out the door—but he goes through all of his usual warm-up stretches now, counting slowly and methodically through each body part as he works to loosen the tensed muscles. It does help in making him feel marginally calmer.

His conversation this morning still fresh on his mind, he decides to run a few laps around the pitch to get his blood pumping and his mind off of a certain blue-eyed boy from his past that can’t seem to stop crowding his thoughts lately. Running off his misery, he takes the time to concentrate on what he needs to be doing during practice because this is a really important season coming up—his first season on the team. His heart is racing, and not just from the physical activity. Harry knows, acutely, how important his every move is. He needs to make a good impression and prove that he deserves to be here, to start, as a first-year. 

Harry is still running laps when his teammates finally start to join him on the pitch, some joining in on his warmup laps and others kicking a ball around before practice officially begins. He finishes at an even six laps around the pitch, just as their coach comes out of his office to get practice started. 

“Alright, lads,” Coach Johnson shouts to gain everyone’s attention, “gather ‘round, please.” 

Harry follows the rest of his team to the middle of the field, where their coach stands holding his clipboard against his hip and waiting for them. Coach quickly runs through what they will be doing during this practice before he orders them to start their team stretches and warm-up. Harry has finally become more comfortable with his team during the few months over the summer they’ve been training together, so as he easily follows along in their stretches he lets himself relax and clear his head so that he is able to focus only on football for the next two hours. 

He loves practices. Loves the way that he can forget about everything else he has going on, the way all his teammates care about is working together to be successful on the field. Sure, he groaned along with everyone else when Coach said they were doing full-field suicides today for conditioning, but at least he knows they’re all in it together. Plus, Harry thinks a few minutes later as he shuffles his toe up to the goal line alongside all of his teammates, lately it seems that the harder he pushes himself, the less he thinks. His mind goes wonderfully blank at football when it’s just a jumble of whistles and grass stains and the swish of the ball hitting the net, and it feels like a much-needed reprieve every time. 

He launches himself off the line with everyone else as the whistle blows to start their run, and hits the 6-yard line, back, penalty spot, back, 18-yard line, back. Harry does his best to breathe deeply through his nose and out of his mouth, pulling air into his lungs methodically. He sees his teammates in his peripheral vision and pumps his arms faster, dreading the drawn-out full-field sprints of the second half of the exercise but knowing that the faster he runs, the faster it can be over. He pivots on the goal line and ducks his head, aiming for the center circle. It continues, on and on, a series of sprint, pivot, sprint, until Harry is on the home stretch with only one more dash across the full length of the field to finish out. He opens his stride and sucks air into his nose, vision laser focused on the goal line of the opposite side as he sees it come closer, closer, closer until his toes are breaking the plane of the line and he lets himself collapse onto the grass past the edge of the field. 

He notices that only Aiden finished before him, and is currently in a similar position to Harry, lying sprawled out on the sideline. Aiden seems to realize this at the same time as Harry does, hearing a second set of panting breaths join his, and gets a look on his face like he wants to say something but doesn’t seem to be able to form words yet. He holds out a hand in Harry’s direction as if to say ‘ wait, hold on,’ but Harry pretends not to see the gesture. Not wanting to face his embarrassment or deal with a continuation of this morning before he had all but hurtled out the door, Harry peels himself off of the ground and paces gentle strides back and forth, slowly allowing his heart rate to return to normal with both of his hands interlaced behind his head. His teammates continue to finish their run as he cools down, and they slowly and shakily gather again by where Coach is waiting to start the next drill. 

“Good work,” Coach praises them, “you’re going to need to be in great shape this season to keep up with the competition. There are some real speedsters and some new talent on the other teams, so I’m glad you all seem to be taking our conditioning just as seriously as everything else.” There is a glimmer of fierce pride in his eyes, and he leans in towards the boys as if he’s about to tell them a secret. “If you keep this up,” he starts, “I think we’ve really got something special here this season.” Whoops and cheers from the team answer his fervent declaration, and the energy is instantly zapped back into the players after their tough run. “Alright, alright, we’ve still got work to do, though. Partner up on the lines for brazilians, and then we’re going to split into groups and alternate with a passing drill and some free kick scenarios. If you all give it a hundred percent, we’ll finish off with a scrimmage for the last half an hour.” Harry perks up at that, and the rest of the team gets similarly excited before they collectively snap out of it and scramble to follow Coach’s instructions. 

+++

“Nice practice, lads!” Coach says while clapping everyone on the back as they file into the locker room. “But you lot smell like shit. Hit the showers, and hang back once you’re done because I have some important things to tell you about this season,” he states before turning back around and heading towards his office. 

Harry sighs, wanting to quickly get this over with and be on his way back to his flat. He desperately needs to shower; he reeks of sex and sweat and his hair, which has fallen haphazardly out of the bun it was in during practice, is greasier than ever. Walking over to one of the stalls, he strips before stepping under the hot running water and letting it soothe his aching muscles. Scrubbing his body, he rakes his fingers through his hair and works shampoo through the tangles before leaning his head back and letting the stream of water wash the suds down the drain. He lets the stream of water rinse the last 24 hours from his body, and further calm him down from the adrenaline of this practice in addition to the high-strung emotions of this morning. 

Letting a deep breath out of his nose, he shuts the water off and wraps his towel around his waist before stepping out of the stall and heading back to his locker to get dressed once more. Pulling on a hoodie and a pair of joggers, he stuffs his practice gear back into his bag. Walking to the bench closest to the exit, Harry feels Aiden’s eyes boring into the side of his head meaningfully yet again, but he chooses to ignore it. Instead, he sits down and hangs his head between his legs, wanting Coach to come back and have this chat so he can go home. One by one, his teammates join him in the main locker room, all looking similarly ready to go home.

Coach Johnson chooses then to make his presence known by clapping his hands together loudly. “The schedule is now finalized, so be sure to take a copy. I’ll be sending out a reminder every week as well. I’m not stupid, so I’ve learned my lesson not to expect you guys to memorize it,” Coach snarks, and makes pointed eye contact with each of his players, “but I am,” he emphasizes, “expecting you lot to keep track of the dates, and which games are when.” 

Harry’s eyes skim quickly over the paper to appease Coach, who is observing the team closely while everyone looks over the schedule he had handed out. 

“Speaking of games, the first few we should have nothing to worry about,” Coach Johnson states and Harry can just sense the impending long speech about the upcoming season. He feels the migraine brewing. “But the bigger games are, of course, towards the end. In fact, the most important game of the season is our final one, which is against M —Oi!” Coach exclaims, sounding affronted, “are you lot even listening to me? Christ, I swear, attention spans of toddlers, you lot,” he mutters angrily.

Having been completely zoned out until this point, Harry jumps slightly at the angry tone, not understanding why Coach would say such a thing. But as he looks around the locker room, he realizes it’s because everyone else on the team seems to be doing the same thing he is, just wanting to be done and able to relax. Whoops.

Harry decides then to tune the rest of Coach’s speech out, focusing more on what he’s going to have for dinner (his stomach is grumbling after running out on his breakfast and then running himself into the ground at practice), and trying to mentally prepare for the endless practices and matches this season will hold, on top of worrying about his coursework; after all, playing on the University of Leeds Football Club is an entirely different animal than playing in years ten through twelve. Shoving the schedule in his gym bag, he quickly laces up his trainers so he can finally leave the locker room once Coach is done with his spiel and head back home. 

“—you know it’s going to be the most important game of the season” Harry snaps back to attention at these words, “and that’s why we're going to play and practice as if that game is the next one up each time, yeah?” Coach continues, but Harry, having missed the beginning of what he’s talking about, is too lost to even realize what it is he’s babbling about now. Nevertheless, he still grumbles out a noise of agreement in response to the coach along with the rest of the team. 

Then, at last, freedom: “Anyway lads, you lot are dismissed for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Quickly, everyone begins to filter out of the locker room in hopes of being the first one out; especially when the entire team leaves at once, every team member runs the risk of being trapped in the parking lot for what could feel like an eternity.

Thank God I’m closest to the door, Harry thinks as he rushes out before everyone else. (As if he didn’t intentionally position himself there, for the quickest exit from the locker room possible.) 

“Hey, H!” he hears Aiden yell out behind him, footsteps quickly approaching. “Wait up!” 

Still feeling off-balance from their earlier conversation and from avoiding Aiden’s questioning eyes all practice, Harry chooses to ignore him once again. He is not particularly in the mood at the moment to rehash this morning or to think about his apparent ‘personality change.’

Why the hell did he have to bring that up? Harry thinks, now painfully cognizant of his previous conversations with the other boy and wondering what else he’s noticed in Harry’s apparently unpredictable behavior. He feels exposed—vulnerable, even, and he doesn’t like it. 

Scurrying to the parking lot, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through the new notifications he missed while at practice before unlocking his car door. Throwing his bag in the passenger seat and turning the car on, he waits for his phone to connect to the Bluetooth before dialing his best mate's number. 

“Hey mate,” Zayn answers on the second ring. “What’s up?” 

“Hey Z,” Harry replies. “Not much, I just got out of practice. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?” 

“You’re not exhausted? You sure you want to hang out?” 

“Positive… I just… Yeah, I want to hang out,” Harry stammers out. “Please,” he adds softly, in a voice that sounds uncomfortable pleading to even his own ears and lifts up at the end to sound more like a question rather than a request. Need to hang out, he thinks. 

Zayn, clearly sensing something off in Harry’s tone, relents. Easygoing and supportive and truly Harry’s best mate in the world, he simply agrees with an easy, “Okay, mate, of course. Just let me know when you’re outside, yeah?” Harry blows out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as the corners of his lips lift into a small smile for what feels like the first time all day. He can always count on Zayn.

“Thanks, Z. I’ll be there in ten,” Harry hums and ends the call. Fingers fumbling with his phone, he opens Spotify and thumbs through his extensive list of music before choosing his playlist titled ‘i wanted to but we couldn’t’ and putting it on shuffle; he smiles sadly when ‘Stuck On You’ by Giveon begins to softly sound through the speakers. Listening to this playlist may not be the best idea he’s had, considering his already deteriorating mental state, but the pull towards it was too hard to resist and, well, he’s having a bad day, alright? 

There is a strange comfort in the dull shockwaves of pain that wash through him as the song reverberates through his car. Harry slowly hums along as the chorus flows, feeling the lyrics like a vice around his already overworked and aching lungs as the artist sings, “waiting for you, even how you treat me, you’re my baby even when you leave me.” 

Harry focuses all his energy into training his eyes on the road, and keeps driving.  

Making his way through the university to Zayn’s flat, his mind begins to wander away from dangerous territory and back to what Coach Johnson was saying in the locker room about one of the bigger games of the season. The older man started saying the team name and kept coming off as if it were the most important game in existence, but Harry didn’t actually catch the name, let alone what letter it began with. Well, he’s decided, Coach is right. It doesn’t really matter anyway, because every game is the most important game.  

He’s not going to dwell on it. He is going to play his best, no matter where it is, no matter who it is against. As his thoughts run, he continues driving through campus quickly and within a matter of minutes he finds himself in front of his best mate's flat. 

Putting the car in park, he mindlessly slams the door as he gets out and stalks up to Zayn’s front door. Though he had calmed down marginally during the car ride, he feels all of the events and feelings of today catching up with him as he approaches the impending safety and comfort of his best friend. He frantically pounds on Zayn’s door, hoping he is quick at answering before he himself bursts into tears after keeping his emotions bottled up all throughout practice. 

The second Zayn opens the door and his eyes land on Harry’s, his smile drops when he sees Harry’s watery green eyes and he immediately opens his arms up, inviting the curly-haired boy into them before Harry’s lip begins to tremble. 

“What’s wrong, H?” Zayn pulls Harry inside his flat, shutting the door behind them. “Is it… you know who again?” Harry can’t stifle the giggle he lets out, his mind uselessly supplying ‘Voldemort?’ Zayn raises an eyebrow at Harry, and Harry’s face sobers and falls once again.

“I just… I miss him so much, Z,” Harry buries his face into Zayn’s shoulder, taking a few deep breaths in order to calm his breathing and stop the tears from flowing over the brim of his eyes. He shouldn’t be this upset over something that happened months ago. 

He especially shouldn’t be upset because he just knows that he is completely unaffected. Probably hasn’t even thought about Harry since he walked out on him, in fact. Left Harry sobbing and clutching at the fractured pieces of his life and of his heart, and just went on with his own life as if nothing ever happened between them, as if they were merely just acquaintances.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zayn gives Harry a comforting hug.

“No, I just need to get my mind off of him. Off of everything really. I just—I need a distraction from today… Please, Z.” 

“Yeah, ‘course,” he murmurs back, easily accepting Harry’s answer and moving on. He hugs Harry even tighter, resting his chin on top of the curly head of hair. “Did you have anything in mind?” 

Harry loves Zayn so much.

He shrugs, sniffling as his shoulders continue to shake with uneven breaths.

“Wanna smoke? Might help you relax,” he offers, a soothing hand running up and down Harry’s back. “Have you eaten yet?,” Zayn asks. Harry shakes his head, only now registering his stomach grumbling. “Well then, we can watch a film and order some pizza too, if you’d like,” he adds, because that’s just how well he knows Harry.

“Sure,” Harry responds once he finally calms down and removes his face from Zayn’s shoulder. He gives the other boy a sheepish look after noticing the very apparent wet patch on his shirt. He didn’t even notice that he had been crying. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his face turning a light shade of red in embarrassment. 

“It’s just a shirt, H, it’s not a big deal. It’ll dry. Come on,” the raven-haired boy ushers him further inside the flat. “Pick out a film, I’ll go get the supplies and order.”

Zayn exits the room, leaving Harry alone in the living room to his own devices. He takes a moment to look around the room, taking note of how everything in the room just seems so Zayn. The paintings on the walls that he had clearly painted himself, the cigarettes on the coffee table, the numerous ashtrays in random spots around the room. 

Harry thinks back to his own place, how it doesn’t quite feel like a home, how there are almost no remnants of himself just yet. He thinks about why it is that it doesn’t feel like a home to him, thinks about what—more like, who—is missing. 

He’s always subscribed to the idea that people are home more than places are, after all.

Physically shaking the thoughts out of his head, Harry remembers the task at hand and he finally turns on the telly. He opens up Netflix and begins to look through their selection of films, smirking when he finds the perfect one and queuing it up, leaving the screen black just to take the piss on Zayn. 

Making himself comfortable on the sofa, Harry takes his phone out of his pocket and begins to scroll through his missed notifications, noticing a new text from Beckett right at the top. He clicks on the text.

Daddy: How was practice? What time should I be at your place? ;) 

Harry rolls his eyes, but feels a smile sneak onto his face as he breathes a laugh through his nose. 

With an exasperated expression on his face he types out his response: ‘just couldn’t get enough, could you? certainly hope you locked my door when you left.”

Before he’s even put his phone down, it buzzes again in his hand.

Daddy: Enough, you brat. Am I going to have to teach you a lesson? 

At this Harry can feel himself blushing, but his smile grows. He can’t help but shake his head as he responds, ‘sorry daddy, but i do like the sound of that… be there at 10 ;)’  Willing himself not to get hard on his best friend’s sofa, Christ, he awaits a response. 

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Daddy: That’s what I thought.

Adjusting his pants slightly, Harry sets his phone down on the coffee table and silences it just as Zayn walks back into the living room with a tray full of the infamous supplies and a clean shirt. 

“Decided on a film then?” he asks. 

“Yep,” Harry grins up at him, dimples popping. 

“Sick, hit play while I get started on this,” Zayn says before sitting down next to the other boy, placing the tray down on the coffee table to get to work. 

Grabbing the remote, Harry does as was requested of him and the opening song for Fifty Shades of Grey begins playing through the speakers. He smirks and watches Zayn’s face as he awaits his reaction to the choice of film.

Flicking his eyes up at the screen for the first time since packing the grinder, Zayn sees the logo for Fifty Shades of Grey flash across. He gives Harry a deadpan look. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s an amazing film!” he smiles, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “I would never joke about Jamie Dornan. I am, quite frankly, offended that you think I would ever joke about that.” 

“H, we are not watching Fifty Shades while we get high.” 

“And why the hell not? What do you have against this masterpiece of a film?”

“Harry…”

“Alright, alright, I’m just taking the piss. Now stop your whining,” he chuckles as he exits the movie and turns on The Amazing Spider-Man instead. 

“Thank God,” Zayn mutters while sealing the blunt. “You want the first hit?” 

“Nah mate, roller’s rights. Have at it.” 

Shrugging, Zayn lights up to take the first pull of the night. He inhales the smoke and holds it in his lungs, before exhaling through his nose and passing the blunt to Harry. 

“When’s the last time we did this, you reckon?” Zayn murmurs. 

Harry pauses before taking his hit, inhaling slowly. He wracks his brain, but “I can’t even remember, to be quite honest,” he admits. He blows the smoke out of his mouth in rings before handing it back to Zayn. 

“I missed this,” the brown-eyed boy quietly admits, his eyes meeting Harry’s. “We haven’t hung out much since… you know.”

Harry frowns, not realizing how distant he’s been when it comes to his best friend, of all people. Between practices, schoolwork, and his seemingly regular hookups with Beckett, he must have made some rather rash cuts in what gains his focus. 

Harry doesn’t even know what to say. He’s been abandoning his best friend, and for what, dick? How heartless can he be? Instead, he nods gravely. “You’re right… I’m so sorry, Z. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I—”

“What did I say about apologizing? It’s fine, I get it.” Zayn is quick to cut him off.

“It’s not fine though,” Harry nearly cries, becoming distraught, “I’ve missed you so much, and I’m in way over my head and I just—I abandoned you.” Blunt long forgotten, Harry just stares at Zayn while starting to get choked up. 

God, it’s been such a long day. He needs to pull himself together. How many times already today has he thought the same thing? 

“H, stop being dramatic,” Zayn chuckles and lightly pushes Harry’s shoulder. “It’s alright, I know how much of a toll practice takes on you, not to mention the load of schoolwork you must have.”

“That’s not all that’s been occupying my time…” he quietly scoffs, in a feeble attempt to defend his reputation. “I’m not that boring.” His mind flashes back to his own contrary thoughts this morning.

“Then what else have you been doing?” Zayn quirks an eyebrow, amusement clear on his face.

“Uhh,” flushing red, Harry quickly reaches for the lighter and sparks up once again, inhaling deeply. He thinks of what to say for a minute as he lets the smoke rest in his lungs before filtering it back out through his nose. But just as he goes to speak, his phone lights up on the coffee table with a new text and before he can reach over to grab it to see who it is, Zayn does it for him.

“...‘Daddy’? ” Zayn reads off of the screen, his amusement turning into confusion. “H, who’s daddy?”

Harry’s eyes widen comically, but the surprise still lingers on his face. Unable to control it, he flushes red even further. His brain of course takes this perfect opportunity to short circuit. “I- Uh- I-,” he stammers out, apparently completely and entirely incapable of formulating a sentence. 

Zayn stares at him in shock for a moment before he comes to a conclusion and realization dawns on his face. Laughter being his initial reaction, he immediately shoots a hand up to cover his mouth, attempting to stifle his uncontrollable giggles. “Oh my god, H, did you get yourself a sugar daddy?”

“No!” Harry shuts the idea down immediately, his already crimson red cheeks somehow becoming an even darker shade. “Why would you even think that?!”

“Then who is he?” Zayn gets his laughter under control, his curiosity beginning to take over now that Harry has shut down his one and only reasonable conclusion.

Harry sighs deeply through his nose. “His name is Beckett…” he murmurs. His eyes are downcast towards the floor to avoid looking Zayn in the eyes as he admits, “we’ve been hooking up for a couple of months now.”

Now it’s Zayn’s turn for his eyes to widen in shock, leaving him speechless for a full thirty seconds. “ What? I mean… yeah, no, wait what? Are you serious?” 

“Erm… yes?” Harry sheepishly confirms, meeting Zayn’s questioning eyes. 

“How did this…when…I have so many questions.” Zayn just stares at Harry, completely at a loss for words, his brain frazzled. How is one supposed to react when your best friend tells you that although he’s still stuck on his ex fuck buddy (could he be considered just a fuck buddy? Zayn really isn’t sure) he’s conjured up a new fuck buddy whom he calls daddy of all things? Oh, as well as not overlooking the fact that this has been going on for months without his knowledge. What does one do? What does one say? How does one react? 

Zayn might be freaking out. Maybe just a little.

“Uh, remember in July when we went out to that one club?” Harry scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. At Zayn’s nod, he continues, “I went back to his place with him that night.”

“Mate, I was there with you that entire night. I’m not understanding how you all of a sudden disappeared with a stranger.” 

“We were making eyes at one another on the dance floor, and I bumped into him in the loo at one point and we exchanged numbers,” he shrugs. “When we got back, he bought me a drink and we danced the rest of the night. Do you really not remember the guy that I was making out with that night?” 

“Honestly, I don’t remember much of that night,” Zayn admits shamefully.

Harry chuckles at him, recalling how gone his best friend was. “I’m not surprised mate, you were out of it. But yeah,” he continues, “after that I took a taxi with you back here to make sure you got home safe. Then once I got you in bed I headed over to his,” he shrugs as if this is a completely normal occurrence. “And that was the first time we hooked up.”

“What the fuck?”

“What the fuck, what?” 

“That’s it? That’s all you’re gonna tell me?” 

“What? Do you want all the dirty details?”

“Obviously. That still doesn’t explain why his name is ‘Daddy’ in your phone.” 

“Yeah… about that…” Harry trails off, his cheeks that had gone back to their original color, now turning bright red once more. “About five or so hook-ups in, it kinda just… slipped out… and it stuck, I guess. He took my phone one day and changed his name as a joke, and I—” he huffs out a laugh, “just haven’t changed it back, to be honest.”

“Christ, mate,” Zayn shakes his head in disbelief. “I should’ve known you would be kinky as fuck.” 

“Anyway,” Harry replies quietly, cutting him off, and looks down in search of the lighter while feeling himself blush even harder. He flicks the lighter and sparks the end of the blunt, taking a deep hit and letting the thick white cloud slip slowly out of his mouth. “Enough about that, let’s get back to the film, yeah?” He mumbles before handing it back to Zayn. 

Zayn takes the blunt from Harry’s hand and takes a deep drag, trying to keep his smirk to himself. A million questions race through his mind about his best friend’s antics, but deciding to let it go for now, he keeps his mouth shut. As long as Harry is safe and happy—or, well, happy enough—that’s really all that matters to Zayn. And now that he thinks about it, Harry has seemed to be in better spirits since the night at the club where he met Beckett. Today’s sadness notwithstanding, Zayn thinks that Harry certainly hasn’t seemed as devastated as he was after the breakup within the past couple of months. The weed helps quiet down all of his other questions to a pleasant buzz as he turns his attention back to the screen. 

Of course, the pizza delivery man decides now is the perfect time to make his presence known. “Saved by the bell?” Harry jokes lightly, his tone sounding a bit too forced to be natural. Wanting to get as far away from this conversation as possible, he chooses to go to the door to get the box and pay the man, thanking him before shutting the front door with his hip. 

“Let’s dig in, shall we?” Harry says while setting the box down on the coffee table. He quickly dashes into the kitchen to grab some paper towels and plates. Harry swears he’s never had anything as good as this as he takes the first bite of his pizza, engrossing himself into the film they had playing. 

Reaching forward to grab his own slice, Zayn looks back at Harry and grins, “we shall.” 

 +++

Once the end credits begin to roll down the screen, Harry stands up to stretch his limbs. Having melted into the sofa and gotten so comfortable after being happy and full, he slightly dreads having to make the drive back to his apartment; he perks up, however, when he remembers that’s where a certain someone will be meeting him. 

“Are you good enough to drive back?” Zayn blinks up at him lazily. 

“Yeah, I came down enough. I’m sober now, don’t worry mate. You know I wouldn’t drive like that,” Harry replies while reaching down and slipping his trainers back on. He stands to his full height and faces Zayn, “besides, I may or may not have plans.” He winks and starts walking to the front door, Zayn gets up off the sofa to follow Harry and rolls his eyes. 

“Do these plans happen to involve daddy, by chance?” Zayn teases wholeheartedly, “definitely wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Unless you’re trying to make him mad, that is,” Zayn says, eyeing Harry knowingly.

“Shut up,” Harry turns, his cheeks turning pink once more. He fishes his car keys out of his pocket before he opens the front door and turns back around to face Zayn. His face sobers, and his eyes with Zayn’s brown ones, “Thank you for today, Zayn. I—I really needed this, to be honest. I’m sorry if I’ve been kind of distant lately, just had kind of a lot on my mind.”

“My door is always open for you, H. You know that,” he replies, while pulling Harry into a hug. “Stop apologizing, I get it. Shit happens. Now that you’re aware, you should come over more often to hang out, you git.” Harry squeezes Zayn back. “Will, I promise,” he assures. 

“Now, I have to get going, but I’ll see you soon, alright Z?” Harry opens the door, Zayn’s warm voice agreeing with a soft, “‘course.” Harry makes his way towards his car, waving to his best friend as he unlocks the door and gets inside. He starts the car, and grabs his phone.

‘on my way home,’ he texts.

His phone dings almost immediately and it sends a shiver down his spine.

Daddy: I’ll leave in ten.

Placing his phone in the cupholder, he smirks as he pulls out of the spot and starts driving back to his flat. 

Chapter Text

He’s late. 

Beckett is never late. 

Harry paces back and forth, despite his calves and hamstrings twinging with the effects of practice today, because he can’t sit still. He knows it’s not from smoking earlier—that’s totally out of his system by now, has been for a good while—but he feels dizzy with it. 

The anticipation. 

He’s about to pour himself a fucking drink to calm down, bloody hell, when he hears a knock on the door. 

Ceasing his pacing and staring at the door as if he can sense who is behind it, he tries to slow his heart rate and school his features so it doesn't seem as if he was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the other man. 

I mean, how embarrassing is it to worry about someone being late to something as trivial as this?

Anxiously waiting for dick, Harry? he thinks to himself. Pull it together. You’re not even dating, he can be as late as he wants. 

Despite his internal attempts to calm himself down, mere seconds after he hears the knock on the door he’s ripping it open. Expecting to be met with vibrant blue eyes, he is instead met with startled hazel ones. Aiden stares back at him with a slack jaw, and raises his eyebrow. “Were you,“ he pauses, then, delicately, “...expecting… someone, H?” he says. 

Harry feels embarrassed all over again, and fish mouths, “I- uh, no? No, I wasn’t. Just heard you coming down the hall, s’all.” 

“Sure, mate…” Aiden trails off, sounding confused and not at all convinced, “Well, I just came by to grab my keys. I left them this morning by mistake,” he explains. “I’m heading to a party,” he adds, flicking his eyes upwards to meet Harry’s and tilting his head a bit to the right, “you wanna come with?” It looks like there is more on the tip of his tongue, and he seems eager at the prospect of finally getting to corner Harry to have a chat. 

Harry almost feels bad for blowing him off, but the lingering feeling of discomfort he feels about discussing anything he’s been feeling as of late with his flatmate right now makes him shake his head.

“Maybe another time,” he offers, not entirely faking a frown, “I have some stuff to catch up on, probably just have a quiet night in,” he lies. Aiden doesn’t seem to necessarily believe him from the slight raise of his brow Harry sees directed at him, but must choose not to press the issue as he simply makes his way in the direction of the counter where Harry now notices his keys sitting. 

“Next time, then,” Aiden agrees, as he grabs the keys and makes his way back past Harry to leave out the door. 

Glancing at the clock in the hallway, Harry notices that it’s already half past ten and feels a sudden realization that makes his stomach lurch. Beckett should’ve been here already, and he could show up at any moment. Not wanting Aiden and Beckett to run into each other and risk a potentially awkward interaction for everyone involved, he feels the need to rush the other boy out of the flat.

“Have a fun night, tell everyone I say hey and I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” Harry gives Aiden a quick hug as he holds the door open with his shoulder, and then watches as he makes his way down the hallway. 

“Have a good night, H,” Aiden calls over his shoulder, and Harry feels a mixture of love and guilt brewing in his chest as he watches him go.

Stepping back into his flat and nudging the door shut, he flexes his fingers and fights the urge to grab his phone. He’s mere moments from breaking down and making a fool of himself by texting Beckett to ask where he is, when he hears another knock. Groaning, he walks back to the door and yanks it open. “God, Aiden, you just grabbed your keys, do you not know how to open the fucking door yourself?” 

“Excuse me, who do you think you’re talking to like that?” a deep voice laced with humor and tinged in authoritative warning—decidedly not Aiden’s—responds. 

Harry’s stomach drops. 

Harry looks up from where his gaze rests on the floor, and his eyes widen comically. Beckett stands in front of him in the hallway, leaning his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed on his chest and an eyebrow quirked up. 

Flushing deeply, Harry stutters over his next words, “I- uh, I just- I- thought you were Aiden. I would never talk to you like that.”

“Your flatmate was just here? That must’ve been the blonde I passed in the hall,” the older man smirks. Damn, Harry thinks, so much for keeping those two apart. “He going somewhere?” Beckett presses.

“On his way to a party,” Harry shakily replies, taking a deep breath to regain some composure and recover from his earlier blunder, “he’ll be gone all night.” Harry’s eyelashes flutter as he looks up with a coy smile on his face.

“Good,” Beckett’s eyes glint mischievously, “gives me enough time to punish you for acting like a brat.” Harry can’t help but inhale sharply at his words, feeling his cock twitch. Beckett walks through the threshold, ushering Harry with him back into the living room. 

“Punish me for what, Beck?” he asks, his tone pleading. “What did I do? If you mean the door just now, it was a mistake, I swear I’m sorry-” He trails after Beckett as he makes his way further into his flat, feeling distinctly like a lost puppy.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beckett mocks confusion, “Did I miss something? Is that how you address me now?”

“No, daddy,” Harry whines immediately, his pants becoming tighter, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s what I thought, ” Beckett smirks. “There’s my good boy.” 

Harry preens at the praise, knowing better than to continue whining. His eyes follow Beckett’s moving figure as the man makes his way over to the sofa, sitting down and patting his legs. “C’mere,” Beckett orders, reaching for Harry’s hips and pulling him onto his lap. Harry follows easily, bringing his knees down on either side of Beckett’s hips to straddle him and linking his arms around the back of his neck. Beckett threads a hand through the hair at the base of Harry’s neck and pulls him in, connecting their lips. His other hand strokes up and down the length of Harry’s flank, and his thumb sweeps broad strokes across the edge of his ribcage.  

Harry breathes out a gasp at the contact, and Beckett pushes his tongue past his parted lips. The man traces the inside of his mouth, and Harry rocks forward subconsciously in his arms. As they continue to explore each other’s mouths hungrily, Harry’s hips shift in lazy circles against the soft bulge beneath him. Harry feels, more than hears, Beckett groan against his mouth as his cock twitches under him. He only grinds harder, more purposefully, beginning to feel drunk on the evidence of the older man’s pleasure and doing all he can to pull more satisfied exhalations from him.

“Fuck,” Harry pants out through his swollen pink lips, as soon as he can suck in enough breath to get the words out, “missed you, need you, so much, fuck.” 

Beckett chuckles lightly at his desperation, which sends a zing of arousal up Harry’s spine that makes him subconsciously rut forward even harder. His hips press down, seeking any kind of relief possible from the hard body underneath him. Beckett tuts disapprovingly at that, tightening his fingers in Harry’s hair and yanking. Harry lets out a deep moan, writhing and twisting in Beckett’s lap and pulling back against the hand in his curls, arching further into the pain.

“Uh uh, baby,” he scolds, harshly sucking and biting marks along Harry’s neck as his head is thrown back. “Have you forgotten you’re in trouble?” He brings a hand to rest on Harry’s waist and pulls forward, accentuating the bow of Harry’s back and arching him further into his chest. Harry goes willingly, pliant and a little bit fuzzy as he lets his body be moved however the other man positions him. “You’re being an awfully greedy boy right now, just taking what you want.” 

Harry lets out a high whimper at that, slumping forward onto Beckett’s shoulder like a puppet with his strings cut. “No-” Harry breathes out, protesting, “wanna make you feel good, please.” Harry whines, licking and kissing up the column of Beckett’s throat before reaching his ear, “love making you feel good, daddy,” he whispers. 

Beckett moans, and Harry revels in the noise, in the natural praise. “That true, H?” he asks, placing his big hands on either side of Harry’s hips and clamping down, grinding his erection dirtily into the boy. 

“O- oh!” Harry exclaims, bucking harder into the contact, “s’true, swear,” he slurs, “please, just, lemme-” Beckett cuts him off, connecting their lips again in a filthy kiss. 

“Yeah, yeah, baby, you can,” Beckett assures, “still need to punish you for that rude mouth, though.” Harry opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off by Beckett promptly shoving him off of his lap and adding, “Think I’ll fuck the attitude out of it. Can’t mouth off if it’s full of something else, hmm?” 

Before Harry is even able to process the unexpected change in position and the words that have him panting, Beckett is gesturing at the floor between his legs and giving Harry another raised eyebrow.

“On your knees.”

Harry feels a shiver run down his spine as he bites back a whimper and scrambles to obey, hurriedly shuffling off of the sofa and getting into position between the older man’s legs. He sinks to his knees easily, naturally, lips parting in a gasp. He licks them in anticipation, and he sees Beckett’s hungry eyes track the motion of his tongue as it drags across his lips, which already look pink and raw from kissing. 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Gonna suck my cock?” Beckett nods towards his crotch, length straining clearly against his joggers. Harry eyes it hungrily and nods feverishly, bringing his hands forward from where they were linked behind his back. He looks up into blue eyes, a question in his own, as he lifts his hands. Beckett nods lightly, giving his permission and ushering Harry on.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband of the older man’s joggers, Harry pulls them halfway down his thighs before mouthing at Beckett’s clothed bulge. Desperate to get it in his mouth, he immediately latches on and begins to suck at the pre-cum beginning to dampen the thin material. He lets out a moan as the salty taste hits his tongue, and continues to lathe at the clothed tip.

“Stop- oh, stop teasing,” a stern look is thrown his way, but Harry can’t help but smirk at the catch in the other man’s voice. 

Knowing his punishment will be worse if he continues, Harry hooks his fingers onto the waistband of Beckett’s briefs and pulls them down to meet his joggers. He takes his length into his hand, giving a light squeeze to his hard member before licking a stripe along the vein on the underside and bringing his tongue to his slit, swirling his tongue along to collect the pre-cum that lies there. Wrapping a hand back around his shaft, he strokes it gently and twists his hand on the downstroke before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the tip, sucking the entire head into his mouth with a soft hum. Harry’s eyelashes flutter as he circles his tongue around the tip and lets his body sink slightly lower onto the floor. Beckett brings a hand to Harry’s jawline and strokes across his cheek, pressing his thumb against the bulge of his own cock in Harry’s mouth and exhaling a pleased noise. 

Spurred on by the encouragement, Harry takes him further into his mouth. He hums sweetly and pulls off so he can kiss along the length and knowingly tease to see how far he can push the older man. Licking the tip once more, he sinks down lower and strokes his hand up and down on what he can’t yet fit. At this, he earns a moan of encouragement and a sharp tug to his hair that pushes a shock of pleasure down his spine and makes him whine, coming out muffled through his full mouth.

“C’mon, baby, I know you can go deeper than that,” Beckett groans, grabbing a hold of Harry’s hair and guiding him further down his length. 

Humming, Harry’s eyes fall shut and his head bobs up and down on its own accord. With his hands splayed on Beckett’s hips, he feels the head of his cock beginning to hit the back of his throat. Thank God for not giving me a gag reflex, he thinks, taking Beckett deeper still. He lets the older man set the pace, the tip of his cock hitting the back of his throat every few seconds. He concentrates on breathing through his nose as he lets Beckett use his mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” the raven-haired man moans, head thrown back, “you’re such a perfect little cockslut.” 

Harry delights at the praise, his eyes rolling back behind his eyelids as he lets out another stifled moan. His own cock is straining against his black joggers, aching to be released from its confines. He takes his right hand off of Beckett’s hip, reaching down to palm himself to relieve some of the tension. His hand doesn’t get very far before his wrist is caught in the other man's free hand. His eyes shoot open at this and he pulls off in shock, a string of saliva connecting his swollen red lips to the tip of Beckett’s cock. He looks at the older man in confusion.

“Did I say you could stop?” Beckett questions mockingly. “Get back to it.” He gestures towards his cock. Harry shudders at the tone and moves forward to take him back in his mouth when Beckett speaks again with a squeeze to Harry’s hand that is still caught in his, unimpressed and controlling. 

“Oh, and bad boys don’t get to touch themselves, understand?”

“Yes daddy,” Harry whimpers slightly in protest. He receives a nod of acknowledgment and lets the older man guide him back onto his cock, his other hand being placed back on Beckett’s hip. He lets his jaw go slack until it’s open and wide as the blue-eyed man grips himself, smacking his cock on Harry’s tongue before inching it back into his mouth. Harry’s eyes flutter shut as he concentrates on breathing through his nose again and tightens his lips around him. He feels a twinge of soreness in his jaw from how long it’s been split open, but he leans into the feeling and continues.

Not allowing Harry any time to adjust, Beckett begins to thrust his hips forward until his nose is touching the base of his cock. Harry just takes it, misty eyes and blown pupils blinking back up at Beckett. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears, and it’s beginning to get hard to stay still—his own neglected cock begging for relief and making him antsy. He shifts his hips forward, practically humping the air in his need for friction on his throbbing length.

Grunting, Beckett continues to piston his hips into the heat of Harry’s mouth as the other boy sucks feverently. Drool begins to escape the corners of Harry’s lips, dripping down the base of Beckett’s cock sliding down his balls making the glide even smoother. 

Harry stays still and lets Beckett use his mouth however he pleases. His knees are beginning to ache just a little, but he actually doesn’t mind—quite enjoys it, in fact. The older man’s thrusts are becoming shorter, a tell-tale sign of his impending orgasm. Greedy for it, Harry sucks harder and pushes his head even further to increase the speed at which Beckett is losing control above him.

Opening his eyes once more, Harry looks up and peers at Beckett’s face—eyes shut and head thrown back. Seeing how blissed out he is, Harry moans even louder around the other man’s length. 

“You’re such a good boy, fuck,” he moans, the grip he has in Harry’s hair tightening slightly as he chases his release. “Your mouth is perfect—made for this. Gonna come, baby.” 

Drool dripping down Harry’s chin, he whines and begins bobbing his head down to meet Beckett’s thrusts, sputtering slightly. Tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes. 

“Fuck,” Beckett groans and pulls Harry off his cock by a tight grip in his hair. All Harry can do is look up at him, eyelashes beginning to clump together with tears, as he opens his mouth as wide as he can, shaking with anticipation. “Love how desperate you get whenever you have my cock in your mouth.”

Unable to formulate a response, Harry shuffles forward on his knees and chases Beckett’s cock, gagging for it—begging to have it back in his mouth. 

Beckett takes a hold of his length and drags the head across Harry’s red, swollen lips, making them glisten with pre-cum. 

“Please, daddy,” he murmurs. Tongue lolling out and licking his lips, Harry collects what was left there. 

Beckett yanks Harry’s head back roughly and begins to jerk off onto the younger man’s tongue and Harry gasps as the first drop of come lands directly in his mouth. He keeps his mouth open wide, his jaw protesting at the stretch, as he eagerly collects all of the older man’s come on his tongue. He closes his mouth once Beckett is done, holding the come inside and relaxing back onto the heels of his feet. Before he can decide what to do with the come in his mouth, the blue-eyed man gives him a stern look and orders, “swallow it.”

Harry makes a show of doing as he was told, his Adam's apple bobbing with the motion of the come gliding down his throat. Moaning unabashedly and smiling softly, he blinks up innocently with swollen lips, sweaty fringe, and rosy cheeks. 

Beckett pulls Harry up by his hair back onto his lap, attaching their lips together. A whimper escapes Harry’s mouth, but the sound is swallowed immediately as he continues to rut up desperately against the other man, his hands coming up to tangle themselves at the base of his neck. 

Bringing his hands around to Harry’s arse, Beckett spanks him roughly before kneading the spot he had hit to soothe the sting. He runs his nose along the base of Harry’s throat before sucking a dark maroon mark under his ear. “Desperate, are we?” he taunts.

“Please,” Harry whines. 

“‘Please,’ what, baby? What do you need?” The blue-eyed man kisses along the younger man’s neck, settling at the base to suck another angry red mark onto the sensitive skin. Harry whines again in response, his hips grinding down onto the older man. Everything feels so heightened and sensitive, as if he could come with just one touch to his poor cock that is still trapped inside his pants. Beckett grabs a hold of his hips, halting his grinding and Harry whimpers. “C’mon, babe, words. I need an answer. What do you need?”

“Need you, daddy, please,” the green-eyed boy throws his head back as he cries out his answer.

“Yeah?” The older man whispers sensually in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe before speaking again. “And what do you need me to do, baby?”

“Need you to touch me, daddy,” Harry admits unashamedly, trying to push against Beckett’s hold on his hips, but his attempt is futile as the other man is much stronger than him. He whines in frustration when he realizes that he can’t move to get friction on his painfully hard cock.

“Alright, baby,” Beckett relinquishes his hold on the younger man’s hips, lightly pushing him off of his lap. “Let’s get a little more comfy. Bedroom, c’mon.” His blue eyes sparkle as he tugs Harry up from the sofa, and he takes Harry by surprise when he wraps both strong arms around him in an incapacitating hug. “‘M’gonna,” he kisses Harry’s left cheek, “fuckin,’” his right cheek, the hint of a dimple forming underneath his lips, “wreck you,” Beckett finishes, breathing out against Harry’s pursed lips.

Beckett pulls Harry along down the hallway towards Harry’s bedroom, and the younger man follows easily. He takes deep gasping breaths to settle his racing heart and clear his slightly foggy head and then suctions himself to Beckett’s side, sidetracking them on their path to the bedroom. 

He pins the other man to the wall by the shoulders and attacks his lips once again, swapping the lingering taste of come between their mouths. Beckett slots a thigh between both of Harry’s, and Harry can’t help but buck into it, chasing the contact. Beckett presses his thigh up even harder and Harry throws his head back, baring the column of his neck as sharp teeth leave bites on his sweet spot. “Stop distracting me, baby. Wanna reward you, you were so good,” Beckett breathes into his jawline.

Beckett taps Harry’s left hip twice, and he follows the silent instruction and jumps; the older man easily catches him, wrapping a muscular arm underneath each of his thighs. Harry gets to work on removing Beckett’s shirt as he walks. “Too- fuck - too many clothes,” he breathily explains, yanking the shirt up the other man’s broad chest and over his head. They finally make their way through the doorway and to the bed, Beckett dropping Harry back on the bed with a soft grunt. 

“Strip, baby. Hands and knees,” he instructs, and Harry hurriedly pulls his shirt over his head before grasping the waistbands of his joggers and pants at the same time before wiggling them down and off of his legs. Now completely naked, Harry lifts his eyes to the sight that meets him at the foot of the bed of Beckett pulling his own pants down and kicking them off of his ankles. 

At the same time, the blue-eyed man looks up, and their gazes lock. Harry takes a sharp breath as he is hit with the simmering desire in Beckett’s stare, and he blinks. 

Blinks again. 

He bites his bottom lip between his top teeth as he regards the other man, worrying it between his teeth. Harry inhales, a plea on the tip of his tongue, but before he can get words out Beckett is on top of him and crowding into his space in a heady waft of cologne and sweat and man. He lifts a hand to Harry’s mouth and plucks his lip from between his teeth, stroking his thumb along the pink and bitten skin. 

“Flip over, baby,” he whispers, coaxing him to back up further into the center of the bed and gently pulling his hips to twist Harry until he’s positioned on his hands and knees in the center of the bed. Beckett reaches a hand out and strokes it along the smooth curve of Harry’s back, pushing lightly to arch his hips up further, and Harry shudders. “ Oh,” he breathes out, twisting back to see Beckett kneeling on the edge of the bed between his spread knees.

Beckett brings his fingertips to the bottom of Harry’s spine and to the curve of his ass, lifting his other hand to join and pulling apart Harry’s ass cheeks. Harry gasps at the cool air hitting his sensitive hole, and he feels pre-cum beading on his tip as he shifts his hips backwards into the contact. 

“Aw,” Beckett coos, “you’re practically dripping, aren’t you?” He walks his fingers around the front side of Harry’s hips, going up to his chest and rolling his right nipple between his fingertips, firm and slow. Smirking at the way Harry shudders beneath him, he reaches down to fist his throbbing cock in his free hand. Harry jerks at the contact and scrunches his eyes shut, fighting the curl of heat he feels barrelling back into his gut after the few minutes of relief he felt. “Wanna taste you, Harry,” Beckett tacks on, thumbing over his spasming hole. “Can I?” he asks. 

Before he’s even finished the question, Harry is shaking and crying out a “yes- please, yes,” and pushing back into the light touches, begging for more. “Eat my- oh!” He’s cut off by a harsh smack landed on his ass, and he moans at the residual sting.

“Patience,” Beckett admonishes, “you’ve been so good so far, baby. Know you can be nice and still for me.” At those words Harry freezes, settling into a comfortable position on the bed. He lets his knees be spread further apart, feeling kisses being trailed along his spine going lower and lower. Harry barely suppresses a cry as he feels the first hot lick over his hole, toes curling in pleasure. 

Harry hums as he feels Beckett swirl his tongue around his rim while squeezing his arse hard enough to bruise, thumbs spreading him open even wider in the process. Avoiding the center, he continues to trace his tongue around the opening, Harry beginning to rock his hips backward minutely trying to get the tip of his tongue inside. 

“You want more?” Beckett asks teasingly, leaning back slightly and kneading the round flesh of Harry’s arse with his palms. 

“Please, daddy,” Harry whines, rocking his hips back even further. 

Delving back in, Beckett flattens his tongue and licks over his opening again and again before putting just enough pressure to get the tip inside. 

“Mm- oh, yes, thank you,” he babbles wordlessly, as Beckett’s tongue finally breaches him for the first time. 

The older man hums, sucking hard on his rim and nipping lightly at the edges, feeling Harry buck forward from the vibrations before backing his hips into him. The curly-headed boy gasps loudly as if he’s unsure of where to go and trembles on the bed. 

“Stop running,” he grunts, slapping Harry’s arse firmly, leaving an imprint of his hand for just a moment, before tugging him back towards him. His strong arms wrap around Harry’s waist, now limiting how much he could move away from his tongue. 

Sighing, Harry shuts his eyes and stops writhing on the bed as Beckett’s hands start rubbing soothing circles along his hip bones. Harry’s breath hitches as he feels him blow cool air onto his rim before leisurely sucking one of his balls into his mouth. 

“Taste so good,” Beckett groans, “could eat you out forever.” Harry bites back a wail at the dirty words vibrating against his sensitive parts and can’t help but shift at the words, receiving a warning pinch on his hip and an arm around either thigh, pinning him in place. The older man lathes his tongue from his balls back up to his rim, repeating the motion twice before diving back in between Harry’s cheeks. He spreads him open further with his hungry mouth and pushes his tongue past the tight ring once more. 

Harry positively mewls at the feeling, arching his back deeper. Spit dripping down his crack, he feels Beckett pull back and press the tip of his finger to his clenching hole. Despite the dry pressure, his touch is gentle as he carefully traces Harry’s rim. He circles the muscle lightly, teasing the tip of his finger deeper inside. The curly-haired boy pushes back against the digit, begging for more as he falls forward onto his forearms. 

“Please, in, please,” he begs, eager to feel the stretch.

“Shh,” Beckett hushes him. “Know you love the pain, baby, but I don’t want to actually hurt you.” He pulls away from Harry and at his affronted noise, soothes him with a hand stroking lightly down his arm. “Gimme a moment, patient boy, hm?” Harry huffs, but stays still.

Green eyes follow intently, hungrily, as Beckett clamors off the side of the bed to retrieve the lube from Harry’s bedside table, opening the drawer and grabbing the half-full bottle from the back of the drawer. Within seconds, he’s settled back behind Harry and latching his warm tongue back onto Harry’s hole. Before Harry can even react, the tongue in his hole is joined by a slicked finger, and his mouth falls open in a moan as he feels it press past the ring of muscle and against his walls.

Rocking his hips backwards into the warm pressure of Beckett’s tongue and the push of his finger, Harry pants, letting his legs widen a little more while asking for “another, please,” and getting his wish as Beckett quickly works towards adding a second finger. The younger boy’s mouth gapes open, breathing harshly, as Beckett scissors his fingers between his tongue, curling them slightly to the left and barely grazing Harry’s prostate. This makes Harry shake and forces a long, high whine from his throat. “Right there, right there, oh god, please, more,” he babbles incoherently.

Beckett pushes his slick fingers in further, adding a third, crooking them and rubbing them up against the spot he knows will have Harry seeing stars and shaking apart around him. The curly-haired boy cries out, screaming a jumbled mix of “yes” and “there” and “thank you, daddy” as he fists the sheets even tighter, clenching them in his fists and gasping as Beckett massages relentless circles on his prostate. 

As predicted, “Fuck,” Harry yelps, and his movements become positively frantic. “Fuck—daddy—gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come,” he whines, bucking his hips backward involuntarily, gasping even louder as his cock brushes up against his stomach. 

“No, baby,” Beckett corrects, pulling his face away from Harry’s wet cheeks and landing a harsh smack on his left cheek, skin blooming pink. “Already know you’re a slut for it, but you know you’re not allowed to come until I say so.” He pulls his fingers out completely, making Harry let out another strangled cry. 

“N- no, back in, please,” Harry mewls and tries to steady his breath, clenching uselessly around nothing. He pushes his hips back once more, chasing the fingers that were so rudely removed. 

Beckett soaks in Harry’s desperate noises, taking note of his own cock already fully hard again between his legs from the cries and the slick noises of his fingers stretching Harry’s hole as well as the sight of the debauched boy in front of him. 

Feeling impatient to get inside of the other boy, Beckett pushes all three fingers back in and works on comfortably stretching Harry’s rim to take him. “Want you to come on my cock,” he breathes next to Harry’s ear, and he feels his hole clench a little around him.

“Fuck me, daddy,” the younger boy whines, desperately pushing back to get the fingers inside of him to go deeper, to press that special spot again. “Please.”

He stops moving his hand as he watches Harry do all of the work, fucking himself on his fingers. Thrusting back shallowly, working himself up more and more, letting out desperate cries of pleasure as he circles his hips and feels himself getting split open. 

“You’re good at that,” Beckett whispers, eyes following the movement. 

Harry’s face burns as he keens at the compliment, but his hips don’t falter. Instead, he arches his back and thrusts back even harder, back muscles flexing under Beckett’s heated gaze. Harry’s cock aches just from the praise, knowing he’s being good. But even still, he wants more. 

Beckett slowly removes his fingers from the well-stretched hole, after giving one more nudge to his prostate. Harry’s hole clenches tightly, trying its hardest to keep the fingers inside, and he whines at the empty feeling when they’re pulled out. Beckett reaches back over to the bedside table to grab a condom, bringing the packet up to his mouth to rip it open with his teeth. Once the condom is free, he slides it down his length before he picks the lube back up, coating the condom in a generous amount. He swipes some of the extra around Harry’s rim. 

“Ready, baby?” he asks, and Harry feels as he drags his cock along Harry’s crack, brushing over his fluttering hole. 

“Yes, daddy,” Harry breathes, pushing back to get more of the length inside of his tight arse.

 “Oh, greedy, are we?” Beckett smirks, grabbing ahold of the younger man’s hips and flipping them around. His own body now rests against the mattress, and he props his head up slightly with the pillows along the headboard as Harry straddles his thighs, their groins flush, red-bitten lips parted and unblinking eyes boring into Beckett’s own as if waiting for instructions. “If you wanna do all the work, babe, then go ahead and be my guest. Show me what a good boy you can be.” 

Harry whines, leaning forward slightly while balancing himself on one hand as he grabs Beckett’s length from underneath him with the other, guiding it to his hole. He moans lowly to himself as the head nudges against his entrance, moaning louder as he slowly sinks down on it. He has to pause every few inches, the feeling completely overwhelming him; once he’s fully seated on the older man’s cock, he allows himself a few moments to adjust to the full feeling, his hole burning in pleasure. He lets out a long moan, the cock inside of him pressing directly onto his prostate—just the way he likes. As soon as he deems himself adjusted enough, he places his hands on Beckett’s chest to keep himself steady and begins to rock back and forth on his length. 

Once he gets used to the pace, Harry begins lifting himself up and down, his thighs flexing with the movement and the tip hitting his prostate each time he goes back down. Harry clenches every time he lifts himself, the tightness making Beckett growl and grip Harry’s hips tight enough to leave bruises in their wake. 

“Fuck,” Beckett murmurs and shallowly thrusts his hips up to meet Harry’s. 

Slowing down slightly, Harry circles his hips and leans forward, mouth ghosting along the other man’s throat as he thumbs his nipples and smirks at Beckett’s sudden intake of breath. 

“You like that, daddy?” Harry giggles into the column of his throat, nipping lightly at the skin there. 

“Watch it…” 

“Or what?” Harry latches his mouth onto his neck, sucking a deep bruise there as he rolls his body faster, snapping his hips up and down in short thrusts. 

“Fuck,” Beckett says with a strained voice. Harry slides his left hand into his hair and pulls slightly, snapping his hips impossibly faster. 

Deciding to reclaim his dominance, Beckett reaches his left arm up to the column of Harry’s throat, puts his fingers on the pulse points on either side of his neck, and squeezes. His right hand slides from his hip to his lower back, trailing lower and lower until his fingers stroke the stretched skin of his rim, smirking at the way Harry’s hips falter. 

“That’s what I thought,” Beckett says, bending his legs and hips thrusting forward at a brutal pace. His hands maneuver themselves back onto Harry’s hips, gripping tightly. 

Harry’s own hand tightens in the other man’s hair, digging his face deeper into Beckett’s neck, breathing shakily. Beckett’s nipples long forgotten, Harry drags his newly free hand along the sheets trying to hold onto anything for purchase, instead slapping the headboard in front of him and scratching the wood frantically. 

“F-fuck, daddy, your cock feels so good,” he throws his head back, rocking his arse back to meet Beckett’s thrusts. He clenches his body on Beckett’s length after one particularly hard thrust to his prostate. 

“Yeah, baby?” Beckett takes hold of Harry’s hips, helping him keep steady. “Love fucking yourself on my big cock, don’t you?”

“Mmm, yes, yes, yes,” Harry whines, his thighs beginning to burn with the motion of his bouncing. His head is getting a little fuzzy and he feels slightly dazed—in a good way, of course, the way that he craves. He shuts his eyes tightly, his head still thrown back as he bounces, and lets out a long moan, his mouth open wide in a silent scream. 

“God, you’re such a good little slut for me,” the older man moans as he watches Harry fuck himself on his cock, looking so desperate. Slowing his own thrusts down, he reaches behind the boy on top of him and gives a light smack on his ass, encouraging him to bounce faster. 

Harry’s pace quickens once more and stays at a relatively fast pace before it slows once again. Doing all the work has made him tired, coupled with everything he’s feeling: the burn of his thighs from fucking himself on the older man’s cock, the scratchiness of his voice from sucking that same cock, and the absolute burst of pleasure he gets every time his prostate is hit by the tip. His shoulders slump and he stops bouncing for a moment in order to catch his breath and bring back some strength. 

Beckett takes notice of this and plants his feet onto the mattress once more, tightening his grip on Harry’s hips, and he begins to thrust into his tight hole. Harry’s moans are accompanied by the sounds of Beckett’s balls slapping loudly against his arse. 

“Yeah, babe, you like that?” Beckett asks tauntingly, increasing the pace of his thrusts. Harry allows his jaw to go slack, uncontrollable moans leaving his mouth, and his eyes screwed shut. “C’mon, baby, I asked you a question.”

“Mmm, yes daddy, love your cock,” the younger man slurs out, drunk off of the pleasure he’s receiving. There’s a tightening in his stomach, a coil that is so close to popping. He reaches down to stroke his cock, wanting to reach his release, to come all over his chest. But before he can even take a hold of it, his hand is slapped away by the older man. 

“No,” Beckett reprimands, giving a harsh thrust into the younger man’s tight hole. “You don’t get to touch what’s mine.”

Harry whines loudly at the older man’s proclamation and bites his bottom lip harshly, nearly drawing blood. He reaches up to play with his sensitive nipples instead, pinching and pulling at the hard buds. He desperately wants—needs—to come, but he hasn’t received permission yet so he tries his best to stave off his orgasm. The hard cock driving into his prostate with every thrust doesn’t help his cause, however, he’s certainly not going to complain. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m close,” the older man says, his thrusts beginning to falter. “Are you ready?”

“Yes daddy, give it to me, fill me up,” Harry cries out, giving his nipples a hard pull and pushing back to meet Beckett’s thrusts. He’s absolutely ready to burst—has been since his throat was fucked earlier. “Lemme come, please.”

Beckett’s hips stutter, his second orgasm beginning to take over, hitting him harder than his first had. Harry’s eyes roll back into his head at the warmth he feels spilling into the condom, and he feels himself falling, falling, falling off the precipice he’s been on since practically before Beckett walked through the door. “I’m- coming, ” he circles his hips violently, chasing the feeling and yelping out a high “oh, fuck, gonna-” he cuts himself off with a filthy groan as his release begins to spill over his chest, drop after drop of warm, sticky come coating it as the other man continues to shoot his release into the condom. The thrusts become shallow, riding out their orgasms together as they both come down from their euphoric high. 

Harry slumps down on the older man’s chest, breathing heavily. “Okay,” he pants out, “this was the last time, I swear.”

“Sure, it was, H,” Beckett chuckles, reaching over to the bedside table one last time to grab a few tissues to clean up their chests from the mess Harry had made. He lifts the younger man off of his cock slowly, allowing him to lay beside him, his head still on his chest. Harry whines quietly at the empty feeling. They lay there in the quiet for a few minutes after having cleaned themselves off and rid of the used condom. 

As Harry gathers his thoughts in his post-orgasm haze, he remembers something he had meant to bring up earlier. He looks up at Beckett, the question on the tip of his tongue, and watches the older man lying there relaxed. His eyes are shut peacefully and his breathing has calmed down considerably. 

But there’s something that has been nagging at Harry. It was pushed to the back of his mind by the evening’s activities, but he’s not going to be able to calm down fully until he gets this answer. Finally coming down from the high, his mind is now going haywire with all the possibilities. 

“Hey, Beck,” he starts and the older man gives a hum of acknowledgement, “why, uh,” he clears his throat, “why were you so late?” He tries for nonchalance, but has a feeling his voice betrays his racing thoughts.

Pinching his eyebrows together, Beckett slowly opens his eyes before craning his neck to look over at the other boy. “I didn’t mean to be, sorry. I swear I was going to leave on time. Remember that one kid I have to see all the time that I told you about? He’s sort of a pain in my ass, always injured and ignoring it, or overworking himself?” 

“That guy, the short one who never shuts up? I remember you mentioning him once or twice.”

“Yes him, I swear he’s going to be the death of me,” Beckett groans. 

“What did he do this time?” Harry chuckles. He lets a light teasing smile show on his face, a significant weight lifting off his shoulders now that he has the answer to the question that had been nagging him. 

“He actually wanted some of my help on the field rather than in the training room. Nothing crazy, which is why I don’t necessarily understand why he even asked to stay back with me for so long, but he just wanted to work on his form for his penalty kicks. Something about having a bad track record with them,” he gently shrugs, the movement lifting Harry’s head on his shoulder, before turning his entire body towards Harry. “Why, are you jealous?” the older man smirks. 

“No,” Harry flushes slightly before clearing his throat. “I was just curious because you’re always so adamant about being on time, so I thought it was weird that you were late,” he snarks. “Was worried,” he tacks on, much quieter and muffled into the older man’s chest.

“Oh yeah babe, sure sounds like curiosity was the only reason,” Beckett chuckles gently, ruffling Harry’s hair and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. He then lightly shifts Harry off of him before getting up from the bed and heading towards the bedroom door. 

“Where are you going?” 

Instead of answering, Beckett walks into the hall and Harry hears him rummaging around the loo before coming back with a wet flannel in hand, swiping it over his own cock. Padding closer to the bed, he crawled up to Harry’s side before giving his arse a few quick swipes and running it along his chest and stomach. 

“Couldn’t leave you a filthy mess, now could I?” Beckett finally responds and pecks his lips before tossing the flannel into the hamper in the far corner of the room and getting back under the duvet. 

“No, I guess not,” Harry murmurs sleepily, shifting closer to the older man beside him. His heart rate has finally slowed, his breathing calmed considerably, and he lets his tired eyes flutter shut. He feels a pair of strong arms wrap around him and he smiles faintly, drifting off to sleep.

+++

Harry’s eyes shoot open at the feeling of being shaken. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the sunlight shining into his room from the curtains. When his eyes finally adjust and fully open, he is greeted with the sight of Beckett hovering above him. The older man’s dark, damp hair curls slightly at the ends, and his blue eyes shine slightly with his soft smile. 

“G’morning, H,” he greets softly.

“Mmm, morning,” Harry replies, rubbing his eyes sleepily. “What time s’it?”

“It’s about seven,” Beckett answers, leaning back to stand upright by Harry’s side of the bed. “I’ve got to get going, H, I’ve got a patient scheduled at eight.”

“M’kay,” the younger man lets out a small yawn, sitting up in bed and stretching before climbing out of bed to pull on a pair of briefs. Wanting to say goodbye, he follows the taller man out of his bedroom all the way to the front door of his flat.

Beckett turns to face Harry when they reach the door, giving him a small smile. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles back shyly, blushing lightly when the older man leans down to plant a gentle peck against his lips.

“Bye, H,” the older man whispers against his lips before he pulls away and opens the door.

Harry grabs a hold of the door as Beckett walks out into the hallway of his building, sending him a small wave as he begins to walk away. “Bye, Beck.”

He shuts the door slowly, a stupid smile on his face and his cheeks still slightly pink from when he had been kissed. 

“Well, isn’t that just cute?” an unannounced voice coos and Harry jumps, turning around to face his flatmate. The blonde-haired boy is leaning against the wall next to the hallway, his arms crossed and a teasing smile on his face. He must have just come out of his room, Harry gauges.

“Jesus fuck, Aiden,” he breathes out, a hand flying to his chest as if that will stop his heart from bursting out of his body. “You scared the shit out of me, mate. When did you even get home?” 

“Late last night, I s’pose,” Aiden shrugs, pushing off of where he was leaning against the wall. “So, how was your ‘quiet night in,’ huh?”

“Great, thanks for asking,” Harry grins, relaxing his posture from being absolutely terrified out of his mind. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower.” 

“Of course, mate,” the other boy agrees, “I’ll make us some breakfast while you do that.”

Harry gives him a nod of acknowledgment and walks past him into the hallway that leads to their bedrooms and shared bathroom. He goes past the bathroom and into his room in search of some clean clothes, not daring to rewear his clothes from last night like he had yesterday. Once he gathers some clothes, he makes his way back to the bathroom. He sets his clothes on the counter and turns on the shower, setting it at the perfect hot temperature: hot enough to make his skin a little pink, but not hot enough to actually hurt. He quickly dips out of the bathroom to grab a towel from the hallway in the closet and hangs it on the rack outside of the shower to be used later. He strips out of the only piece of clothing he’s been wearing, he just now realizes, and his cheeks redden in embarrassment when he realizes that his conversation with Aiden just now was conducted in only a pair of briefs. Oh well, he figures, he’s seen worse.

He takes a calming breath, pushing any and all thoughts of Aiden out of his mind, and he gets into the shower, letting the hot stream of water run over his face. The water helps him relax and he can physically feel his muscles untense. He runs his hair under the water, making sure to get it all wet before he grabs his shampoo and squirts a dollop onto his left hand. He sets the bottle back down and lathers the shampoo in his hands before running it through his dampened curls, massaging it into his scalp and relishing in the relaxing scent. Quickly rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, he adds a bit of conditioner to soften his curls while he washes his body, effectively removing all the remnants of what had happened last night. He rinses the body wash off and turns the shower off once he’s done, pulling the curtain back and stepping out of the shower. 

The cold air hits his warm body and he shivers, his nipples hardening from the cold. He grabs his towel off of the rack nearby and dries off, wanting to get into his clothes so that he can be warm once again. When he deems himself dry enough, he drops his towel on the ground to soak up any residual water he tracked out of the shower and grabs his briefs to slide them up his legs followed by a pair of black skinnies. He slips on a faded white Rolling Stones t-shirt and pads over to the sink to brush his teeth and rub some moisturizer on his face quickly. As soon as he’s done, he picks up his dirty clothes and takes the bundle to the hamper in his room, making a mental note to do his laundry soon. 

Harry grabs his phone off of his bedside table and slips it into the back pocket of his jeans before he leaves his room, making his way towards the wonderful smell of bacon and eggs, his stomach growling in hunger. He reaches the kitchen where Aiden is found, putting the last few pieces of bacon onto one of the plates sat on their small table. 

“Hey, H,” Aiden greets happily, “hope eggs and bacon are alright with you.”

“Absolutely,” Harry assures, “I’m starving.”

He takes a seat at their table in front of one of the plates while Aiden puts the frying pan in the sink before he too joins Harry at the table. They eat in silence for a few minutes before Harry finds it a little too unbearable and chooses to break it, deciding he’s finally ready to have that conversation his flatmate has been continually hinting at wanting to have. 

“Listen, Aiden,” he starts, eyes downcast on his plate that is still mostly full and his stomach is practically doing flips, he’s so nervous. He feels all of the guilt for snapping at his flatmate, who he knows is just looking out for him and has really been one of his only friends since coming to uni, coming back at once and gnawing at his insides. He clenches his eyes shut for a beat, inhaling through his nose deeply. He blinks his eyes open and locks gazes with Aiden. “About yesterday,” he starts, cutting his eyes to the side for a moment before recentering them on the hazel ones searching his face. “I’m so, so sorry I flipped like that on you.”

“Harry, it’s okay-” Aiden starts.

“No, it’s not,” Harry cuts the other boy off, hurriedly. “You didn’t do anything wrong and I just- I was so rude to you, and you don’t even know why I reacted that way. It’s not right for me to have pushed that on to you when you were just trying to be nice.”

“Well,” Aiden starts, furrowing his eyebrows, “maybe you could start by just trying to explain it to me?” He tilts his head, seemingly looking through Harry and seeing into his thoughts with perceptive eyes. “I can tell there’s something else going on.”

Harry takes a moment to think about that, about the prospect of finally letting another person in. He thinks about the impact it would have, letting someone new get close to him, close enough to know about his boy. There’s only a handful of people that know what went down. Is it worth it to let someone else know, to go through the pain of recounting and reliving everything? 

He closes his eyes and takes another slow, deep breath in through his nose. It calms his mind considerably, his right hand no longer tightly clenched on his fork and his body no longer feeling rigid on his chair. He relaxes into his seat and opens his eyes, a forlorn look reflecting towards the boy across from him. “It’s, uh… it’s kind of a long story…” he trails off, setting his fork down and leaning back.

“I’ve got time,” Aiden assures him, sincerity showing in his hazel-colored eyes.

And so, Harry makes a choice in that second.

He dives right in at the beginning. 

He tells Aiden about the feisty boy in his year during secondary school with the blue, blue eyes who ran as fast as lightning and ended up right at the finish line in Harry’s thoughts. About how they hated each other from the moment they met—or, at least, the other boy had seemed to hate him from that first moment, and certainly made it no secret—but had to overcome their differences once being deemed co-captains of their footie team in their last year. About how, at first, that had made them fight even more. Yoga, no, running, no, ‘this is my practice,' 'well this is my team,'   on and on and back and forth. 

He explains how one day a fight had escalated and somehow they had ended up having heated sex in the locker room. How they slowly, but surely, stopped hating each other. 

How they came to realize that maybe, they hadn’t ever really hated each other at all.

He recounts, with a catch in his throat and dimmed stars lingering in his eyes, how one day this boy had kissed him in front of everyone, right on the football field, after they had won a match. 

Holding his face in his hands, and inhaling shaky breaths, Harry reaches the point of their story where they had drifted apart for a while, and he laments about how he didn’t know why at the time. He describes seeing him again at a party hosted by their teammates, how this boy that he thought of as his at this point was sitting in someone else’s lap. With watering eyes, he painfully details the last conversation, upstairs in their friend’s room, a blur of tears and pleas and one-sided goodbyes. How his boy, his beautiful boy with his favorite blue eyes in the world and the feisty attitude that was a perfect foil for his own, had broken the news to him: he had gotten into their shared dream school on a full scholarship, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t?, Harry questioned—do long distance. 

At this point, Harry has to take a break. Gasping in breaths, his shoulders shake lightly with quiet sobs. He carefully angles himself away from Aiden, curling in on himself as if to appear smaller, as if by decreasing the surface area of his body he could lessen the residual pain that he can’t seem to escape. His chin tucks into his chest, ducking his red cheeks and tear-shiny eyes out of view of his flatmate. Aiden lets out a noise that sounds like a mixture of protest and sympathy and gathers Harry in his arms. “Shh, shh, H, shh, you’re alright, it’s alright,” he soothes, carding his fingers gently through Harry’s curls. “You’ve told me a lot, I get the idea, you don’t have to-”

“No,” Harry blurts out, the word seeming to cut through the air and thunk hard on the counter between them, startling them both with its ferocity. Aiden flinches, and Harry’s eyes immediately fill once again with guilt as they make a panicked scan over the blonde’s face. “Sorry, shit, god I’m just fucking everything up,” he winces, “just let me- I need to finish explaining, get it all out, if you don’t mind listening for just a bit longer. I know you don’t owe me anything, but,” he trails off. 

Aiden nods immediately, encouraging Harry on. “‘Course,” he soothes, patting Harry’s back where his hand rests, “You know ‘m here for you. Keep going.” 

With his head hung and his cheeks wet, Harry picks up where he left off. In a dull voice, he explains how that completely, totally, wholly broke him. How it felt like he had given his entire heart to this boy just for it to be ripped out and stomped on repeatedly by agile, cleated footie boots. How he laid in bed for days, feeling himself slowly fading along with the mixed scent of the two of them on his sheets. His first, well, his first everything, really, taken from him by someone he thought he loved.

Harry picks his head up. Blinks. Takes a breath. He starts talking his way through how he had slowly picked himself back up: choosing to go to school here at Leeds, getting set to continue playing football here even when he didn’t think it would still be an option.

He admits how sometimes he still thinks about that boy, that beautiful, beautiful boy.

There’s a pregnant silence in the air once Harry finishes speaking, both boys just staring at each other. The blonde-haired boy next to him is clearly trying to process everything he just dumped on him, breathing slowly and scrutinizing Harry’s face. It’s a lot to take in, Harry admits. Aiden doesn’t look mad, though, or annoyed, he just looks- sad? His eyes are soft as he regards Harry, and his touch is softer as he strokes his thumb in sweeps across Harry’s back. 

Suddenly, before Harry can even register the motion, he has a mouthful of blonde hair and feels himself being crushed into a muscular chest. Once Aiden finally does speak, it’s quiet. Purposeful. Full of so much sympathy Harry could cry.

“I’m so, so sorry that happened to you, H,” Aiden says quietly into Harry’s temple, the words muffled into his curls. The words are so quietly they’re practically whispered, but they aren’t weak. Harry shrugs it off as best as he can within the other boy’s embrace, motioning that it’s fine, he’s fine. 

Aiden has been nothing but understanding and considerate this whole time, listening and giving Harry the space and time he needs to get out all the feelings he’s harboring. Harry has never felt anything but safe and supported. But this motion, Harry’s weak attempt to brush off the hurt he’s just detailed, seems to make the other boy's anger boil. He grips Harry’s shoulders in each of his hands, and pulls him an arm’s length away before leaning in and locking their eyes together. “Harry- please, listen to me,” he implores, the serious tone catching Harry off guard. “Don’t just shrug this off like it’s okay. He’s such a piece of shit for treating you like that.”

“No- what? Don’t call him that, he’s,” Harry shakes his head, “he’s sweet, and kind, and considerate…he takes care of his family, and he’s so passionate about the things he loves.” Aiden snorts, and raises a brow. 

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he mutters under his breath, but Harry hears and his mouth pops open.

“I swear, you don’t understand,” he scrambles to explain, “he just has a different background, and he didn’t really have any choice, he had to go there, and- he loves football so much. It was the only option.” 

“Haz, he made a choice when he broke up with you.” The words clang through Harry’s head, starting to ache with all the talking and the crying, but Aiden has more to say. “Not only that, but he gave you an awfully shitty excuse to stop seeing you,” he huffs. “Better yet, from what you just told me, he didn’t even fight for you. He just up and left… and for what exactly? Football? There’s no way you can’t see how utterly fucked that is on his part. Not to mention that it seems like he didn’t want anyone to know about you two pretty much the entire time.” 

“You don’t get it, Aiden,” Harry pushes. “He’s just not sure about his sexuality and Manchester is quite far from Doncaster, and we didn’t even know what school I would be going to at the time either.”

“Listen, mate,” the hazel-eyed boy stops Harry’s rambling. “I stand by what I said.” Aiden breathes, his eyes flickering shut for a moment. He speaks the next words clearly and slowly, as if trying to physically press them into the other boy. “Harry. He is an absolute piece of shit, and he doesn’t understand the incredible person that he lost by doing such a horrible thing. But,” he acquiesces, “you are clearly not going to change your mind about him, and I am not going to force that on you. I just hope you can understand how it seems that way to me after hearing your side of the story and witnessing firsthand how much he hurt you.”

“I- understand that, yes. Thank you. Thank you for listening, and for caring,” Harry whispers, gratitude showing in his eyes.

“Now,” Aiden says, abruptly changing the subject, “enough about him—who’s this guy you’ve been seeing recently?” He smirks at the green-eyed boy across from him. Harry’s stomach drops, a nervousness settling in at the prospect of this coming up. He was not expecting to have to explain the Beckett situation, nor was he expecting the abruptness of the topic shift—either way, he’s caught off guard. 

Harry doesn't even know what to say. “Oh, uh, that’s-” he stutters, eyes lowering and cheeks pinkening.

He may not have been expecting for that to be brought up, but he might as well answer truthfully, he supposes. No reason not to, and he’s spilled enough of his heart in the past hour to trust Aiden. So, “that’s Beckett,” he answers, “we met at a club a few months ago, just before training started, I believe.”

“Okay…” the other boy trails off, taking a minute to sort his thoughts before he speaks again. “So, is he your boyfriend?”

“No!” Harry nearly yells, shutting the other boy down with that thought immediately. He lets out a loud laugh before smacking a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he squeaks, still giggling, “I didn’t mean to yell. But, uh, no, we’re definitely not together.”

“Alright, then, what is he to you?”

“He’s…well he’s, uh, he’s a friend,” the curly-headed boy stumbles over his words. How is he supposed to describe his relationship with Beckett? They’re definitely not boyfriends, they can hardly be considered friends.

“With benefits?” Aiden smirks.

“Uh, yeah,” Harry mumbles, his cheeks heating up. “I guess so.”

“Listen, mate,” the blonde starts, “what that other guy did to you was downright nasty and I am so incredibly sorry you got treated like that, but you seem so much happier with this new guy and I’m happy for you.” Aiden squeezes Harry’s shoulder, his lips quirking in a smile “just promise me that you two will never do anything on our sofa.” 

“No, never,” Harry smirks, batting Aiden’s hand away and feigning offense, while last night plays on a loop in his head as he lies through his teeth. 

Chapter Text

Louis’ POV

“C’mon, work, you fucking piece of shit!” Louis shoots up out of bed, startling awake at the loud sound of someone banging against something down the hall from his room. His half asleep mind recognizes the culprit of the aggressive voice as his roommate, Aaron, who he has decidedly deemed the actual worst roommate in the world. Louis theorizes—scratch that, he knows—that if there was a Guinness world record for being the worst roommate ever, Aaron would by far win.

Groaning, he stretches, letting his muscles tense and relax briefly before taking a deep breath and cracking an eye open to get used to the sunlight glaring into his room through his half-drawn curtains. Slapping his hand on his nightstand, he feels for his phone and grabs it; scrolling through his missed notifications on the screen, he takes a look at the time and groans once more. Of course Aaron felt the need to make an abundance of noise five minutes before his alarm was set to go off. At this point, who needs an alarm when you have a roommate who doesn’t know how to be quiet?

Letting out an annoyed sigh, he tears off the comforter and shivers as the cool air hits his warm body. He sits up and dangles his legs over the side of the bed before he pushes himself off to stand up. He rubs his eyes and grabs a pair of grey joggers off of the floor to slip on quickly, and then reaches back to grab his phone off of the bed where he left it. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he makes his way out of his room and down the hall. He follows the noise of pots and pans clanging together (at frankly a ridiculous decibel level, if he may add) all the way to the kitchen where he finds his roommate, Aaron, placing a frying pan on the stove. 

“Must you make every fucking noise imaginable at this ungodly hour? Like, seriously,” Louis snaps, crossing his arms and shifting his weight to lean his hips back against the counter.

“Must you complain about every fucking thing I do?” Aaron bites back, slamming the spatula he was holding on the counter and turning to look at Louis with the nastiest glare he can muster. 

Louis rolls his eyes at that. “Stop giving me reasons to complain then,” he sneers, before stepping around the other boy to fill up the kettle. He sets it on one of the back burners of the stove once it’s full and turns it on, letting the flame heat up the water. He maneuvers his way past the dark-haired boy again to reach above him, opening the cabinet and grabbing a protein bar for breakfast. Good enough, he decides. 

“Fucking wanker,” Aaron grumbles under his breath, letting go of the spatula and storming out of the kitchen, leaving his mess behind.

“Piece of shit,” Louis swears, grabbing the spatula and the pan, putting them in their correct places. He leaves his protein bar on the counter while he makes his way back to his room. He walks around the dirty clothes and half-empty water bottles strewn across his floor, making his way towards his dresser where he pulls out a plain red shirt to slip on. The kettle still has another few minutes, so he heads to his bathroom to finally take his morning piss and brush his teeth. After he finishes and spits his toothpaste in the sink, he fixes his hair in the mirror until he deems it decent enough and finally leaves the bathroom. 

He hears the whistle of the kettle and follows it back to the kitchen where he grabs his favorite mug (it says ‘World’s Best Brother’… thanks, Lottie) and his favorite Yorkshire tea. He pours the boiling water into his mug and drops the tea bag in, setting it on the counter to let steep for a few minutes. He opens the fridge and grabs the milk out to add a dash to his mug, but he decides to skip out on the sugar this time. He prefers the taste, plus unsweetened tea wakes him up better. Between roommate confrontations and early morning footie practice, he needs all the help he can get this morning. He grabs a spoon from the silverware drawer and stirs his tea, watching it mix together. He pulls the tea bag out and drops it into the trash before he takes a sip, burning his throat.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he curses, setting his mug back down on the counter. While he waits for it to cool down, he puts the milk back in the fridge and sets his spoon in the sink to be washed later. He checks the time on his phone, realizing if he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to be late for footie practice. He quickly downs his tea, the slide of the scorching liquid down his throat a soothing pain. He drops his mug in the sink and runs to his room to grab his footie bag. He checks to make sure his cleats and shin guards are in there before slipping on a pair of Vans, throwing his bag over his shoulder, and rushing out of his room and down the hall. He makes a quick pit stop in the kitchen where he swipes his protein bar off the counter and slips it into a side pocket of his bag to be eaten later. Then he dashes out of the front door, making a point to slam it just to irritate Aaron. I can’t believe I got stuck with him of all people, he thinks.

In his haste, he decides taking the stairs will be faster so he jogs down the two flights to the lobby of his building and rushes out the door. He takes his bag off of his shoulder to dig through it for his headphones as he begins his walk to campus. He plugs them into his phone and opens Spotify as he puts them in his ears. He scrolls through his library, looking for his newfound favorite playlist entitled ‘i wanted to but we couldn’t’ and humming along to the first song that plays on shuffle. Whoever made this really encapsulated exactly how he has been feeling ever since… you know. He really ought to thank them. 

Once he steps foot onto campus, he lets his eyes shut for a second as he takes a deep breath in, breathing in the crisp, fresh autumn air. He really needed this walk, he realizes…his mind has been such a jumbled mess these last few days and he hasn't been able to focus properly. He can feel the walk helping to cleanse his mind, and he collects himself so that he is once again ready to throw himself back into football full time. He can’t have anymore distractions; it has been his dream to play for this school, and he did not drop everything and everyone to come here just to fuck around. 

Opening his eyes and letting his deep breath out, he begins his walk through campus towards the pitch for footie practice. He grabs the protein bar he had snatched earlier this morning out of the side pocket he had put it in and opens it, munching on it as he walks towards his absolute favorite spot on campus—luckily, it’s on his way to the pitch. 

By the time he reaches his favorite spot, his protein bar is gone and his stomach is happily full. He throws away his trash in a nearby bin and takes a minute to admire this area. The Alan Turing memorial had never once interested him before coming here, he has no idea who the bloke even was, but now that he knows about the statue in the middle of the area he comes through here nearly every time he walks through campus. It’s some kind of animal or insect (is it an ant? Is it a bee? He can never decide) on some sort of an egg-shaped thing, and at first glance, it looks like it’s fucking it and Louis finds that absolutely hilarious. 

Continuing his walk, he passes by the weird statue and pats the ass of the animal (bee? Ant?), letting out a chuckle. He turns his gaze towards the ground as he walks away from his favorite place, taking notice of a rainbow square on the ground in front of another statue. He feels a sense of longing, of wanting as he stares at it, but he shakes those thoughts out of his head as best as he can. 

What are you thinking? Distractions won’t help you rise the ranks and play for the Premier League. Focus.

Snapping out of his thoughts once again, he checks the time on his phone and realizes he’s now running late once more. He jogs the rest of the way to the pitch, barely making it there with enough time to change into his practice gear. Walking into the locker room, he quickly notices that he’s alone and changes into his practice jersey and a pair of shorts, trading his Vans for a pair of black cleats. He shoves his footie bag and the clothes he just changed out of into his locker before he heads out to the pitch. He sets his water bottle down by the bench and stretches the muscles in his legs to prepare for his warm-up laps around the pitch. 

“Oi, lads,” Louis hears the assistant coach yell from mid-field as he’s halfway through his third lap, “get over here, practice is starting!”

+++

Louis watches as the rest of his team saunters to the direction of the locker room after the coach deemed practice over. Still not feeling too confident about his penalty kicks after the incident last season, he decides to seek out the assistant coach for some additional help. He finds him collecting the scattered footballs on the pitch. 

“Hey, Beck!” Louis shouts across the field before jogging over in his direction. “I had a question for you.” 

The older man continues fiddling with the tie on the ball bag before looking up. “What now, Tomlinson?” 

“Oi!” Louis gapes, throwing his hands up dramatically. “I don’t harass you that much, do I?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He chuckles. 

“...That’s fair,” Louis mumbles, suddenly rendered speechless. “But, I actually needed help with something.” 

“Of course, not a problem. Just hold that thought for one second,” he says before stepping around the other boy and shouting towards the rest of the team. “Oi lads! Team bonding at my place Wednesday, yeah? It’s mandatory. If you’re not there, you lot will be running laps at the next practice until I tell you to stop.” 

“Team bonding? Seriously, Beckett?” Louis deadpans, after Beckett has turned his attention back to him. 

“Yes you git, you lot need to spend more time together before the first match,” he crosses his arms. “Now, didn’t you want to ask me something, or are you just going to keep being a pain in my arse?” he smirks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis fumbles with his words. “I’m still having some trouble with my penalty kicks, I was wondering if you had any advice on how to better them?”

“Why are you so worried about penalty kicks, Tomlinson?” Beckett asks exasperatedly. “They don’t happen as often as you must think.”

“No, I know, but they still occur in three of fifteen games, and,” the shorter boy starts. “I just… I had a hard time with them in secondary school and I just don’t want to be in a position where I have to do a penalty kick and I miss… again.” 

“Alright,” the other man concedes. “How about you stay after practice sometime next week and I can help you? I’m a bit busy this week, otherwise we would do it sooner.”  

“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Beck, I really appreciate it.” 

“Anytime, Tomlinson,” he chuckles, picking up the bag of footballs and slinging it over his shoulder. He pats Louis on the shoulder as he begins to walk away, “Go shower, you reek.”

Louis rolls his eyes, a smile on his face, and goes to pick up his water bottle from near the bench and head towards the locker room to wash all of the gross, sticky sweat off his body.

+++

Louis shuts off the shower, stopping the steady flow of steaming hot water and reaches for his towel set on the bench outside of the shower stall. He quickly dries himself off and throws on a pair of mostly clean clothes. He gathers his sparse toiletries and makes his way back to his locker to grab his bag. He sets his toiletries on the top shelf of his locker and grabs his Vans from the bottom, slipping them on and then grabbing his bag. He stuffs his dirty practice uniform inside and zips it up before throwing it over his right shoulder. As he shuts his locker and locks it, his phone goes off in a series of vibrations, indicating that he has a call. Confused as to who would be calling him, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at the caller ID. The name flashes back at him in white letters: Niall. He smiles and answers the call as he walks out of the locker room.

Before he can even say hello, an Irish voice is yelling, “What are you doing right now?”

He blinks, processing what is going on. “Well hello to you too, Niall.”

“Hi, what are you doing at this very moment?”

Louis continues to walk away from the pitch as he answers, “I just got out of practice, why?”

“Good, I’ll be at your flat in like ten minutes.”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Niall laughs. “I’ll let myself in, see ya soon.”

The line clicks. Louis takes a minute to completely process what just happened. Once it fully hits him, he speeds up his walking, determined to be at his flat before Niall gets there. He is absolutely regretting his earlier decision of walking to practice, his muscles now incredibly sore and in need of some serious rest. But he pushes through and practically jogs back to his flat, persistent on being there before Niall.

+++

Slightly out of breath as he approaches his building, Louis takes a look around the block. When he is unable to spot Niall’s car he inwardly cheers, realizing that he must have succeeded in making it here before the blonde. He smirks as he steps inside his building and takes the lift up to his floor, taking his keys out of his pocket. He taps his foot as he waits to arrive at his floor, swinging his keys around his index finger and watching the numbers slowly ascend. 

He unlocks his door and steps inside, toeing off his Vans and dropping his bag on the floor by them. He walks further into the flat, startling slightly when he hears a loud and familiar voice from the living room exclaim, “welcome home, honey!”

“I fucking hate you,” Louis crosses his arms, fighting to keep a grin off his face as he walks into the room to greet his best mate. 

“Aw, I love you too, sweetcheeks,” Niall grins, slinging an arm over the other boy’s shoulders. 

“Get off me, I hate you,” Louis keeps up the act, trying to push the blonde off of him.

Niall makes an affronted face and refuses to let Louis out of his grasp. “Do you? Do you, really?” The blonde tightens his grip on the shorter boy, pulling him into a full hug.

Louis hugs him back even tighter as he replies, “yes, tremendously,” 

“Wow, tremendously? That’s a big word, didn’t realize you knew those.” 

“Shut up,” he chuckles. “Missed you, dickhead.” 

“Missed you too, snookums.” 

Pulling back from the embrace, Louis rolls his eyes before hopping onto the sofa. “What made you take the drive down here anyway? Wasn’t expecting to see you anytime soon.” 

“Sheesh, can’t a guy just visit his best mate?” Niall says jokingly, grabbing the remote before joining him on the sofa. “It’s not even a far drive and I just wanted to see you before the semester gets too busy. Plus, Leeds is a bit boring.” 

“I told you that you should’ve transferred here before the school year began.” 

“I know, but you know I wanted to stay close to home, I couldn’t help it. Who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind,” he says as he nudges Louis’ shoulder. He turns on the telly, the Netflix logo popping up instantly. He begins scrolling through, looking for a film to put on. 

As Niall is looking for something to watch, Louis can’t get one thing out of his mind. “Where did you park your car?”  

“Huh?” The blonde is confused before what Louis said registers in his head. “Oh, a few blocks away so you wouldn’t see that I was here.” 

“That’s a bit dramatic of you.” 

“Would you expect anything less?” 

“Never,” Louis shakes his head, watching as Niall selects Shameless to watch, a small smile playing across his face. 

Halfway through an episode, the front door slams open and Aaron walks inside the flat, taking one glance at the boys sat on the sofa and scoffing before stalking off towards his room on the other side of the flat. 

“Asshole,” Louis mutters under his breath, throwing a glare in the general direction of his roommate’s side of the flat and crossing his arms.

“Why do you two hate each other so much?” Niall inquires, a crease in his eyebrows as he looks at the boy next to him. 

“He’s a homophobic piece of shit, that’s why,” the shorter boy grumbles, moving his glare towards the telly that is still displaying an episode of Shameless, although neither of them are truly paying attention anymore. 

“What are you on about, mate?” The blonde is truly confused now. “Wait, has he- has he said things to you?” 

Louis hangs his head, shaking it and pinching his eyebrows together. He takes a deep breath and puffs out his cheeks, releasing the air and bringing his eyes back up, settling them at a point just to the right of Niall’s shoe. “He was a right dick to Harry at the championship game, alright?” he explains, tamping down his residual anger at the memory. “He called him a princess because of his hair,” Louis snaps, and now he’s on a roll, feeling all of his frustrations toward his roommate since they’ve moved in coalescing beneath the surface. “When he did it, I could tell Harry was so ups-” he cuts himself off. “Well, it just was really fucking rude of him, ‘sall.”

“And you still care about this, why?” Niall continues. “You broke up with him, remember?”

“Well, yeah,” Louis stumbles over his words, “but that doesn’t mean he deserves to be treated like that.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Niall agrees, “but why do you care so much about it to jeopardize your relationship and constantly be fighting with Aaron?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you broke up with Harry, why do you feel the need to defend him even when he’s not here? And when you have no responsibility anymore?” 

“Because I do, Niall, will you just drop it?” Louis glares at the other boy. He’s had about enough with everything today. He’s hungry, he’s tired, and he wants to just brew a cuppa and shut himself in his room or he feels like he’s going to snap.

“No, why did you even break up with him?” Niall persists. “I don’t get it, things were going so well between you two. You were the happiest I’ve ever seen you, mate.” Louis bites back a wince and shakes his head again, as if to clear it. 

“Because I fucking did, Niall, drop it,” the blue-eyed boy grits out, steam practically coming out of his ears. 

But Niall is already shaking his head before Louis even finishes his sentence. “No, I want a proper explanation,” he presses. “From the way you’re reacting right now, I assume you didn’t even give him a proper explanation.”

“Right, fuck this,” Louis harshly rises from his spot on the sofa, heading towards the door. “I’m leaving, you can let yourself out.” 

As Louis reaches for the door, a hand grabs a hold of his shoulder and yanks, turning him around. He glares at his blonde friend, wanting nothing more than to be away from all of his pressing questions.

“Yeah, we’re not gonna do this again,” Niall decides, grabbing Louis’ shoulders and steering him back to his seat on the sofa.

“Do what again?” he splutters, too caught off guard to resist Niall sitting him down and spinning him so that the boys are facing each other.

“This childish bullshit, Lou. You’re gonna sit here and you’re going to fucking talk to me,” he drops his hand from Louis’ shoulder and crosses his arms, a serious expression on his face. “I’m sick and tired of you shutting me out of your feelings, especially when it comes to Harry. Do you not remember what happened last year? I’m not fucking doing it, so man up and explain.” 

“Fine,” Louis snaps. “I fucking broke up with him because I couldn’t deal with every fucking emotion he was making me feel and I couldn’t come here knowing that he wouldn’t be here by my side.”

“So you decided that not having him at all was better than being with him just at separate universities? Do you hear yourself?” 

“I couldn’t be with him and come here, knowing I just took this from him, Niall.” 

“You’re acting like your coach didn’t make it known to all of you that were good enough to get scouted, that Manchester only had their eyes on two players from all schools and those players just so happened to be you and Aaron,” Niall deadpans. “So obviously Harry knew that only one of you would get the call that they got accepted. For all you know, they could’ve reached out to him after the fact and you guys could’ve both been here, together.” 

“Yeah, well, they didn’t, so does it really matter?” 

“How do you know?”

“Know what?” 

“How do you know that they didn’t reach out to him about coming here?” 

“Well he’s not here, is he?”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t reach out and ask him if he wanted to play here. For all you know, they extended an invitation and he turned it down because of you.” 

Never having thought of that possibility, Louis simply blinks at Niall. Blinks again. Then, quietly, he speaks, “He wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to play here, it’s his dream…” he trails off. “Was his dream,” he mutters as he looks down at the floor. 

“Why would he want to play on a team with you after what you did to him?” 

“What kind of person would turn down their dream just because they got broken up with?” Louis answers back, his anger rising once again. “If he can’t put aside his feelings, then he’s clearly not made for this.” There are too many things going on inside Louis’ head, and he can’t deal with all of the emotions he’s feeling. This is why I didn’t want to talk about it, he thinks, I can’t handle it.

“You didn’t just break up with him is the thing, Lou. Do you not get it? You dumped him, and from what you’ve told me, you didn’t explain to him any of your reasoning or let him share with you how he felt.” 

“I shouldn’t have to explain, Niall,” Louis seethes, “if I don’t want to be with someone anymore, then I shouldn’t have to be.” 

“No, you shouldn’t,” Niall agrees, “but when that person hasn’t done anything to even remotely warrant a break-up, then I really do think they deserve a fucking explanation.” 

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, Louis, I do, and I’m sure Harry would too.”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose and sinks further into the sofa cushions, slumping in on himself. “Fine,” he concedes. “I was- I was scared, okay?” 

“Scared of what?” Niall replies gently, with a mix of confusion and curiosity written on his face.

“I was scared of losing him.”

Niall pauses and stares at Louis as if trying to solve a puzzle. “So, you just let him go instead? You just… gave up?” he shakes his head. “Didn’t want to fight for him?” 

“It was easier,” Louis shrugs. 

Niall raises an eyebrow at the simple reply, looking at Louis as if he can see inside his head. See how not easy it’s been. How he’s been avoiding anything and everything that might bring him back to that time or that day that he so strongly doesn’t want to think about. Can’t think about it. “You’re happy then,” Niall starts carefully, “with the decision you made?” 

“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done, there’s no going back now.” 

“But it does matter. Are you happy or not?” Niall presses.

“I’m playing for my dream school, how can I be anything but happy?” Louis feigns a smile, pain flashing briefly in his eyes before he expertly masks it. “Can we change the subject now? Please?”

Niall sighs lightly, understanding that this is probably the most he’s going to get out of the other boy today. “Yeah,” he agrees, “‘course. You know I’m always here for you though.” 

Louis grabs the remote and unpauses their episode of Shameless, continuing to watch it in a tense silence. He’s not really paying attention, the conversation he and his best mate just had playing on repeat in his head.

“Are you finally done throwing your fucking fit?” an annoyed voice sounds from the kitchen. “Next time you guys want to bicker, go to your fucking room so I don’t have to listen to it.”

“Put some headphones in and mind your fucking business, dickhead,” Louis snaps back, giving Aaron the middle finger. “Go fuck yourself.”

Aaron rolls his eyes, grabs a snack and stalks back to his room, slamming his door extra loudly.

“See what I have to deal with?” the brown-haired boy scoffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. 

“Yeah,” Niall smiles, shaking his head at how stubborn his best mate is. He lets a silence reign over them again for a minute, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth and looking deep in thought about something before he breaks the silence. “Hey, you want to go out and do something?”

Louis thinks it over for a moment before shrugging as if to say ‘why not,’ and letting out a “Sure.” 

+++

The boys climb into Niall’s car and begin to drive around Manchester looking for an activity they can do—neither has said it out loud, but Louis thinks they both want to get their minds off of their previous heavy conversation. He mentally curses himself for not Googling places nearby before they left once they’ve been driving for ten minutes straight and have yet to make a decision or pass anywhere that stands out to either of them. Louis’ about to reach his breaking point and pull out his phone and use some of his data to do just that when he spots it: a laser tag place called Tenpin. 

“Niall, pull into there,” he points to the relatively nondescript building just down the road from where they are on the left. The blonde, albeit being confused, pulls into the car park and parks in the first open spot. They both glance at the long, low-slung building outside the car window before locking eyes.

“Laser tag, huh?” Niall smirks at Louis, “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“In your dreams, Neil,” Louis sneers, unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the car. He begins walking towards the building, a little bounce in his step from the excitement of the prospect of kicking his best mate’s ass at a game intended for children. He reaches the door and holds it open, the stench of pizza and chips wafting through the air. He waits for Niall to walk through first. “I hope you can put your money where your mouth is.”

“When I completely obliterate your ass, Tomlinson, you’re paying for food.”

“Yeah, as if,” Louis scoffs. “Best of three? Whoever has the most points wins. Loser pays for food.”

“You’re on,” Niall smirks, walking up to the counter where a very bored teenage employee stands picking at their nails. “Three games, please.”

“That’ll be twenty-six pounds,” the employee replies, not bothering to look up as they smack their gum. Both boys begin digging through their wallets for the money, looking exactly like a couple of broke university students as they do so. Niall is the first to come up with his half of the money, slapping it on the counter and pushing it towards the employee. Louis follows suit quickly. “Laser tag’s right through there.” 

They point in the general direction of the arena and the boys follow the direction, although the lack of specification of direction given by the employee’s halfhearted point leaves them staring at each other with black expressions. Despite the confusion, they see a helpful sign exclaiming “Laser Tag!” and find their way there, greeted by a group of ten or so other people gearing up when they enter through the doors.

“Come on, Ni,” Louis drags the blonde towards a table with all of the red gear. “We’re gonna be on the red team, we have to represent Man U.”

“You’re such a dork, you know that right?” Niall responds, rolling his eyes but letting himself be pulled by Louis.

“Shut up,” he throws a red vest at the blonde before slipping his on and grabbing a gun.

“Players,” a voice over the speakers announces. “When you are let into the arena, you have one minute to find a place to hide before the game begins. You will have thirty minutes to accumulate as many points as possible for your team. The current high score for a single person of the day is 3,380.”

“I can do better than that,” Louis scoffs, clutching his gun closer to his chest. Niall gives him a look that says ‘you sure about that?’. Louis ignores him.

“Three… two… one… go!” The doors to the arena open and they are let in. Louis signals for Niall to go the opposite way as him so they can each find a good hiding spot. He finds a nice spot on the far left of the arena behind a half wall and crouches down to wait for the one minute to be up.

“Players,” the voice from earlier is back. “You may begin in three… two… one. Good luck.”

Louis immediately darts out of his hiding place and up the stairs to the balcony, trying to get a good view of the whole arena. As he’s scanning the main floor, he spots a flash of blonde hair in the dim green light sneaking up on someone from the opposing team. Before Niall can pop around the corner, Louis shoots at his target, earning himself a hundred points.

“Do better, Niall!” he shouts over the balcony before ducking and making his way towards the stairs once again, checking behind him every few seconds to make sure no one is trying to sneak up on him.

Once on the main floor, he begins taking out multiple unsuspecting opponents, steadily increasing his score. He takes out at least ten players before he spots Niall again, this time on the other side of the arena. He runs in the blonde’s direction, taking cover when absolutely necessary. When he gets closer, he crouches to the floor and barrel rolls directly in front of his best mate, taking out a player who was trying to sneak up on him.

“Did you just… do a barrel roll?” Niall blinks at Louis’ crouching figure on the ground, utterly confused at his best mate. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ignoring the comment, Louis continues to stealthily look around them. “Honestly, Niall, if you were going to play like shit, we shouldn’t have even come here,” He complains, “I’ve saved you one too many times to count at this poi-” he cuts himself off as he hears a beeping coming from his chest and he looks down, seeing the flashing red light from his vest indicating he had been shot. He turns around to find the reason for his flashing vest, spotting a child no older than ten from the opposing team smirking at him. “Little shit.”

“You were saying?”

“Shut up, dick,” he lightly shoves the other boy. “Look at my score, then take a look at yours. Maybe then you can speak to me. Now, let’s go before either of us gets shot again.”

Taking the lead once more, Louis motions for Niall to follow him. He guides them towards the back of the arena when he hears a group of unsuspecting players. He signals for Niall to be quiet and they inch closer towards the group. Rounding the corner, Louis grabs ahold of Niall’s vest and yanks him in front of him, effectively using him as a human shield as he takes out the small group of kids hiding behind a target.

Shoving the other boy away from him, Louis laughs at his flashing red vest. “You were saying?”

“You’re an asshole,” Niall deadpans. 

“Not my fault you’re so slow,” Louis shoots back, winking at his best mate as he shoots another target of the opposing teams. He darts off once more, doing yet another barrel roll to the opposite wall and taking a look at his surroundings.

Not spotting any other players, he decides to accumulate points by hitting some more targets. A few minutes go by before he hears a scuffle of shoes to his right. He turns slowly, careful to not make a sound, and gets low to the floor, leaning his back against the wall. Before he can even move to take the shot, Niall barrel rolls directly in front of him and steals it. 

“Huh, that was kind of fun,” Niall nods in confirmation, crawling back towards Louis. “You were smart for doing that.”

“Told ya,” Louis replies smugly. They must have been talking too loudly and blown their cover because right after he gives his reply, a flashing red light is blaring in his peripheral vision. He looks down at his vest to confirm that he has, once again, been shot. 

Grumbling, he gets on the ground as Niall motions for him to follow him up the stairs to the balcony. They begin to army crawl towards the staircase, Louis looking behind them every few seconds. He spots a group of kids no older than twelve at the far corner of the back wall and he taps Niall on the shoulder, pointing towards the group. Having caught the brunette’s drift, they both turn around and begin army crawling their way to the group. Unfortunately, they got shot in the process, but they shrug it off, knowing they’ll make up for lost points after eliminating this entire group.

Once close enough to the group, both boys barrel roll in front of them and begin frantically shooting at the kids, screaming in victory as they take them all out one by one. Louis looks over at Niall and grins, raising his hand for a high five. The blonde mirrors a similar look and quickly reciprocates the high five.

“Knobheads,” the kids grumble as they shuffle off to another place in the arena. 

As the boys take cover once more, an alarm is heard over the speaker before a voice begins to speak, “Players, you have five minutes left of game time. Good luck.”

Smirking at Niall, he gives the blonde a nod of acknowledgment before they both dart off to separate areas of the arena, covering more ground. Louis shoots targets all over the arena, racking up his score as much as he can in these last five minutes, and taking out any players when he sees them. He takes out at least ten more opponents before the alarm goes off once again.

“Game over, players,” the voice announces. “Please head back to the holding area and return your equipment as your scores are calculated.”

The lights in the arena turn on as all the players shuffle their way into the holding area again. Louis sets his gun back on the table he had retrieved it from before looking down at his vest and smirking as he sees the flashing numbers back at him; 4,150. He chuckles in victory as he realizes he greatly surpassed the highest score of the day and it’s only their first game. He takes the vest off and hangs it up, pride clearly showing on his face.

Louis turns his gaze to his surroundings, trying to pick out his best mate from the mass of other players. He spots the blonde at the other end of the table, hanging his own vest up on the wall. He saunters over to the Irish lad and leans his hip on the table, crossing his arms and letting a smug smile play across his lips. “So, Ni, what was your score?”

“4,151,” the blue-eyed boy boasts. Louis’ smile drops. He thought he had definitely beaten his best mate. 

“You’re pulling my leg,” he blanches. There’s no way in hell he beat me by one point, he thinks. 

“Am not! Look at my vest, it’s still there.”

Louis looks up at the vest above them and, sure enough, the exact numbers are flashing right back at him in the obnoxious red color. 

“I-” He’s at a loss for words.

“You… ?” Niall smirks. “And your score, Lou?”

“4,150,” the shorter boy mumbles.

“I’m sorry, what?” Niall presses, a knowing smile on his face. “Didn’t quite catch that. Could you repeat it?”

“4,150,” Louis grits out, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, that’s what I thought you said,” Niall nods. “What was that earlier? About kicking my ass?”

“Fuck off, mate, it’s still the best of three.”

“Mhm, we’ll see about that.”

+++

“Mmm, this pizza’s delicious, Ni, don’t you think?” Louis smirks as he pulls a pepperoni off of his steaming slice and pops it in his mouth, making obnoxious noises as he chews. “Told ya you were gonna put your money where your mouth is.”

Niall rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his own pizza. They eat in comfortable silence until both slices of pizza are gone. The blonde wipes the grease off his mouth as he checks his phone for the time, his eyes widening when he realizes how late it is. “Shit, Lou, I’ve got to drop you off. It’s getting late and I have an early class tomorrow.”

“‘Course,” Louis nods in understanding. 

Both boys gather their rubbish and throw it in a nearby bin before making their way out of the building. They hop into Niall’s car and buckle up, the blonde shoving the key in the ignition and starting it up.

The drive back to Louis’ flat is short and bittersweet. He wishes his best mate could stay longer but knows how important school is to the blonde. He sighs as they pull up to his flat, knowing he has to go back in there and face reality. At least this was a nice distraction, he thinks.

“Hey, don’t look so down,” Niall reaches a hand across the center console and rests it on the other boy’s shoulder, making him look over. “I’ll be back here before you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Louis shoves the blonde’s hand off his shoulder. “Can never get rid of you, apparently.” 

“Never,” the blue-eyed boy agrees. “I’ll be back for your first game.”

At this, Louis finally cracks a small smile. “Good, you better be sitting front and center.”

“Oh, believe me, I will,” Niall smirks. “I already have a sign made with your name in bright, sparkly letters, babycakes.”

Louis’ smile grows and he leans over the center console, giving his best mate a hug. “Love you, Ni.”

“Love you too, Lou,” Niall hugs him back even tighter before letting go and shooing him out of the car. “Now, go on. Get.” 

Louis rolls his eyes fondly and gets out of the car, walking up to his building. Before entering, he looks back and sends a final wave to Niall as he pulls out of the car park. He returns his gaze to the building in front of him and braces himself before walking inside and making his way up to his flat. Unlocking the door, he walks inside and notices Aaron sitting on the sofa. He ignores him, not wanting to start another argument, and goes into his room.

He flops on his bed and lies there, staring at the ceiling. The silence is overwhelming, the loneliness creeping back in and settling directly in his chest. He starts to get restless and he sits up, sitting at the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. 

The change in position doesn’t make anything better. 

His leg begins to anxiously bounce and his heart begins to race. The silence is deafening, the pitter-patter of his bouncing foot and the beat of his heart echoing, pulsing through his body and ringing in his skull. He hates this; hates being alone, left with nothing but his thoughts. He doesn’t have much control over where they end up, and that’s a dangerous thing for him.

They’re beginning to creep their way into his mind again; the thoughts about his boy—not his, and that’s all his fault, fuck—thoughts of green eyes and soft curls and softer touches. Wide eyes lined with pain, left in pieces in their friend’s bed all those months ago. 

Louis stands up abruptly as if he can physically get away from his thoughts. Shakes his head as if to knock them out of his mind, but that doesn’t work either. Nothing does.

He turns on his heel and strides across the room, yanking the door to his room open and practically sprinting through his flat. He grabs his footie bag from where he left it by the front door, not even unpacked from practice, and slings it over his shoulder. 

He leaves his flat in a haste and all but runs down the stairs of his building, trying to get out as quickly as he possibly can. If he keeps moving, and distracts himself, he won’t be overwhelmed by his thoughts. Once he’s outside again, he breathes in the crisp autumn air and begins the walk to the pitch.

Chapter Text

“Nice practice, lads!” Coach says after blowing his whistle. “I’m looking forward to the game tomorrow, you lot are ready. You’ve all been working hard, and you’ve got a lot to show for it. Now get these damn balls off the pitch and hit the showers,” he states before turning away from them and starting in the direction of the locker room towards his office. 

Thank fuck, Harry thinks as he leans forward to catch his breath, bracing his hands on his knees. He reaches over to his left and grabs his water bottle that had been resting beside him, opening it and practically chugging the last half of it that’s remaining. Once he feels like his thirst has been quenched for the moment, he swipes a hand across his mouth before setting his water down again and beginning to help the rest of his team gather the footballs that have been strewn across the pitch during practice. 

Placing the last ball in the bag, he ties it in a swift knot and heads to the storage room. He stuffs the bag in there along with all of the other football equipment and makes his way slowly back across the pitch to retrieve his water bottle before hitting the showers. The hot water relaxes his tense muscles and he wishes he could stay there forever, but he has class in about half an hour. He shuts off the warm spray of the shower, nearly whining out loud at the cold and the thought of trudging to his class. By the time he steps out of the shower, he is the only person left in the locker room. 

He quickly dries himself off and wraps the towel around his waist, grabbing his dirty practice gear from the floor and padding over to his locker. He digs his clean clothes out of his bag before shoving his dirty uniform inside and his cleats in the side pocket. He hangs his towel up in his locker and slips on the clothes he had brought; he had decided this morning on his pair of black jeans and a flowy button-up, leaving the first four buttons undone. I might feel absolutely exhausted today, he figures, assessing his appearance in a full length mirror on the cinderblock wall, but at least I look good. He rubs some deodorant under his arms, shoving it back into his bag once he’s done and speedily zipping it up, throwing it over his shoulder. He glances down at his watch hurriedly, and toes on his chestnut-colored Chelsea boots before practically running his way out of the locker room to his car. 

Unlocking his car, he dives into the front seat and tosses his practice bag in the backseat, slamming the door shut. He buckles his seatbelt and puts his key into the ignition, turning it and starting the car with a rumble. Glancing again at the time on his phone as he plugs it in, he notices he only has ten minutes to drive across campus and somehow make it to his first class of the day on time. He shifts the gear into reverse and backs out of his parking space, pressing his foot gently down into the accelerator once he’s out of the car park. 

Harry speeds nearly the entire way to the building in which his lecture is held, dutifully ignoring the number on the speedometer and luckily not getting pulled over during his race to class. He makes it with 5 minutes to spare. It takes him 3 of those minutes to find a goddamn parking spot in the lot and he swiftly backs in, parking the car and shutting it off. He yanks his school bag out of the passenger seat and nearly trips in his haste to get out of the car. He swipes his student ID to get into the building and fuck, fuck, fuck, this professor really hates if you’re late to class. He practically runs to his classroom, lurching through the doors with 30 seconds to spare. He sits down near the back of the room and pinches his eyes shut, taking a moment to catch his breath once again as his professor is getting the presentation ready. 

Harry digs his laptop and a notebook out of his bag, setting them out on the table in front of him and waits for his sociology class to begin.

+++

“Class dismissed.” 

Harry looks up from his notes at the sound of his professor’s voice, blinking confusedly. He must have spaced out for a minute there, his hand hovering over his notebook and an unfinished sentence written on the page. He inwardly groans, now he’ll have to get the rest of the notes from a classmate. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head at himself, packing up his stuff and shoving it back into his bag. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he gets out of his chair and pushes it back in, following the rest of his classmates out of the classroom. 

Going back to his car, he places his bag in his passenger seat once more and gets in, slumping in his seat. He grips the steering wheel with both hands and rests his head on the top, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath in hopes of reducing all of the stress he has accumulated today. Lifting his head up, he shakes it to clear his thoughts and reaches over to buckle himself in. 

Harry clicks on the playlist he’s had on repeat for the past few days from the top of his Spotify and begins the drive back to his flat for lunch between classes. He can’t wait to just sit down for a second and have some time to himself. God, he really needs to do something to destress. Lucky for him, he’s a fabulous cook—his mouth waters just thinking about the delicious leftover baked ravioli he has just waiting for him at home.

He pulls into his designated parking spot and hops out of his car, taking notice that Aiden’s car is here as well. He makes his way inside his building and up the few flights to his shared flat, pulling out his key when he reaches the correct door and unlocking it, stepping inside. He’s greeted with the wonderful smell of reheated baked ravioli wafting through the air. He slips his keys back into his front pocket and toes off his Chelsea boots, putting them with the rest of the shoes by the front door and heads towards the kitchen where the smell is coming from. 

He comes face to face with his flatmate standing at the microwave, reheating a plate full of the baked ravioli he had made the other night. He narrows his eyes at the microwave before opening the fridge and inwardly cheering that there’s still more left. If Aiden had taken the rest of it, Harry truly would not have been responsible for the actions he may have performed… luckily, the disaster is averted. He grabs the tupperware and sets it on the counter, going to the sink to wash his hands. 

“Hey mate,” Aiden greets belatedly, as he’s waiting for his food. “How was your class?”

Harry gives Aiden a tired smile. “Hey,” he greets back, as he grabs a fork and a plate. “It was alright. Kind of hard to stay awake after practice, but I managed to push through, more or less.”

The microwave finally beeps and Harry hears Aiden getting his plate out as he fills his own plate up with what’s left in the tupperware. They switch places in the kitchen and Harry slides his food in and shuts the door, hitting the buttons for one minute and pressing start. 

Aiden makes a noise of agreement, shaking parmesan cheese onto his ravioli. “Yeah, I feel ya, mate,” he nods, “that’s why I deliberately didn’t take any morning classes.” He cringes, seemingly at the mere idea of a class at this time of the morning. “You ready for the game tomorrow?” he asks, changing the subject to the one that’s on everyone’s mind at the moment.

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry leans against the counter, crossing his arms as he waits for his food to reheat. “Did you invite anyone to come watch?”

“Yeah, just m’mates,” the blonde responds as he shoves a whole ravioli in his mouth. “M’parents couldn’t make it to this one. What about you?”

Harry pauses for a brief second before answering. “Oh, uh, just my best mate, Zayn.”

The microwave beeps again and Harry opens the door to take his steaming food out, setting it on the counter to cool down slightly. 

“But…?” Aiden presses, raising an eyebrow and narrowing his eyes at the brown-haired man on the other side of the room.

“But what?”

“I know you asked me because you have something else to say,” the blonde urges, “so go on, spit it out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry shrugs, popping a bite of ravioli in his mouth. 

“Harry,” Aiden deadpans, giving him a blank look. 

Harry sucks in a breath. “Okay, fine!” he bursts out, dropping his act of nonchalance. “I was just, uh…” he flutters his eyes shut and scrunches his nose. “Just wondering if you thought it would be stupid of me toaskBecketttocome?”

Harry opens his eyes to see Aiden’s face scrunched up. “H, mate, you’re gonna have to repeat that one again. This time at a normal speed and volume.” He says slowly, with a raised eyebrow.

Heaving out a sigh, Harry rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling. “D’you think it’d be weird if I asked Beckett to come to the game?” he enunciates, voice soft but clearer.

Aiden blinks at him. “I mean, why not?” the hazel-eyed boy shrugs. “Do you think he’d say yes?”

Harry nods slowly. “I would hope so,” he reasons. “He knows how important football is to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask, H,” Aiden offers an answer, sounding sure of himself. “If he comes, then that’s great. If he doesn’t, then he can get hit by a car.”

Harry’s jaw pops open in shock. “That’s-” he sputters, “that’s…a bit morbid, don’t you reckon?”

“I mean, I’d say eat a dick… but I imagine he may like that. Plus it would likely be yours, and nobody needs that,” his roommate smirks.

Blushing furiously at the implications, Harry chokes a little on his ravioli. “You’re the worst, I swear,” he manages to choke out.

“You love me,” Aiden smirks back at him.

“Whatever,” Harry rolls his eyes, a small smile playing across his lips. 

He casts his eyes down to his plate and continues to silently eat until he feels a pair of hazel-colored eyes burning a hole into the side of his head. He looks up at his flatmate, taking in the questioning look being given to him. Not catching the drift the shorter boy is trying to send, Harry just awkwardly stares back in confusion as he chews. 

He raises an eyebrow. “What?” He finally mumbles through a mouth full of ravioli. He swallows before speaking again. “Do I have something on my face? Why are you looking at me like that, mate?”

“Aren’t you gonna ask him to the game?”

“I- wha- yes?” Harry stumbles out, furrowing his brows at the other boy. 

“Well?” Aiden presses, gesturing towards Harry’s phone lying on the counter near his plate.

“I- I mean, I- I wasn’t planning on doing it right this second.”

“And why’s that? Right now is as perfect as any other time, so what’s the problem?”

Not really having an excuse, Harry begins to weigh his options in his head. He could text Beckett right now, but what if he’s doing something important? What if he’s with another man at the moment? They never said they were exclusive. But if he waits too long to text, Beckett might make plans for tomorrow and won’t be able to make it to the game. 

Shit. Should he– “Harold, if you do not pick up that phone right now and text that man, I will quite literally grab it and do it for you,” Aiden shakes Harry out of his catastrophizing by breaking the silence, intently staring at the brown-haired boy across from him. 

Harry continues to go through the pros and cons of his options inside his head, ignoring the other boy. He must take too long to decide because the next thing he knows, Aiden is reaching over and plucking his phone off the counter. He watches in mild horror as the other boy flashes the phone towards his face and then swipes up once to unlock it using the Face ID before scrolling through the contacts in search of Beckett’s name.

Harry watches Aiden’s brows furrow. “His name’s Beckett right? Why can’t I find him? He’s not in the ‘B’ section.”

“Uh…” Harry bites his lip awkwardly.

“Oh! Maybe there’s an emoji at the beginning or something,” Aiden mumbles to himself as he scrolls to the bottom of Harry’s contact list.

“Um…”

“I must be scrolling too fast, why can’t I find his contact?”

Harry is visibly wincing at this point, lost to the other boy as he’s focused on his task. “Aiden…” he repeats, unsure if it’s more of a plea or a warning. 

“There’s no fucking way. Like, it must be in here somewhere and I’m just not seeing it.”

“Aiden,” Harry finally snaps, breaking the other boy out of his concentration and silencing his ramble to himself. “He’s not under Beckett.”

“What’s it under then? I’m texting him for you or else it’s never going to get done, I don’t care,” the blonde deadpans while reverting his attention back to the phone and scrolling once more as if the name will miraculously call out to him.

“I- you know what, give me the phone. I’ll just do it myself,” Harry says, finally snapping himself out of his thoughts. 

“No way, I’m doing it, I don’t trust you. Now, what’s the contact name?” Aiden presses, still scrolling mindlessly.

“Daddy,” Harry mumbles so low he barely hears himself, crossing his arms in defeat.

“Huh? Didn’t quite catch that, H.”

“Daddy,” he mumbles slightly louder. It’s still not loud enough.

“Spit it out!”

“Daddy! It’s Daddy, okay?” Harry blurts, the tips of his ears turning as crimson as his cheeks.

“Aha!” Aiden cheers victoriously, clicking aggressively on the screen as he presumably finds the other man’s number. “Y’know, I figured that out the second I didn’t see a ‘Beckett’ in the ‘B’ section. The walls are thin, remember?” the other boy winks playfully. 

Unable to wipe the shock–or the blush–off his face, Harry just continues to stare at his flatmate in disbelief. He had thought they had always finished before Aiden got home.

However, Aiden breaks him out of his reverie as he casually informs, “anyway, I texted him. Now we wait…”

Harry gapes. “You did not!” He exclaims. “What did you say?”

“Nothing incriminating, relax. As if you haven’t sent him something questionable before.”

“I have not!” the curly-haired boy protests.

“I have your phone in my hand still, do you want me to go through your messages?” Aiden challenges, smirking and bringing Harry’s phone back up as if to start doing just that.

Before Harry can snatch his phone back and prevent embarrassing himself even further, the phone lights up with a new message, making both boys stop their teasing.

Doing the same Face ID trick (damn Harry for being so slow a second time), Aiden quickly flips the phone back to himself, smirking as he opens up the message thread. He takes a step back from Harry, preventing him from reading the messages as he taps quickly across the screen before locking it and placing it back on the counter.

Harry pouts at that. “So you’re just going to text him for me and refuse to show me what’s going on?” he practically whines.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Aiden shrugs as the phone lights up once more and he unlocks it with Harry’s face, typing a response to whatever Beckett had said. 

“Unbelievable,” Harry mutters, shaking his head. He refuses to admit it, but he’s kind of nervous about what Aiden could be conversing about with Beckett. He begins to fiddle with his rings, twisting them around his fingers, making some of the nerves he’s feeling in his stomach settle considerably. 

Harry’s about to lose his mind when he hears Aiden giggling at one of the messages, his rings no longer enough to hold half of his attention. He watches as the other boy taps another response before looking up at him with a smirk of satisfaction.

“Alright, he’s coming tomorrow. You’re welcome.”

“Wait, really?” Green eyes blink back at Aiden, Harry’s lips parted and eyebrows raised.

Aiden’s smile turns less teasing and softer. “Yes, H, why would I be lying about that?”

“Well, I– What did you say to him that he agreed?”

“Well if you really must know,” Aiden smirks before clearing his throat, looking back down to the phone. “To Daddy: ‘Hey, my first game is tomorrow and I was wondering if you wanted to come?’ to which Beckett, sorry, Daddy replied with: ‘Hey babe, I’d love to. Is it home or away?’ Then, I simply gave him all the details.”

“That’s it?” Harry blinks at the other boy. “Then why were you giggling?” 

“Oh, I ended the conversation with ‘thanks, Daddy,’ and he may or may not have insinuated something immediately after.”

“Give me my phone back,” Harry demands, his eyes wide. He holds his hand out for Aiden to place it in. The other boy complies, plopping the phone into the awaiting hand and backing away with his hands raised, a proud smirk painting his face.

Harry unlocks his phone and goes straight to the messages, opening his conversation with Beckett. He frowns when he doesn’t see a text after the last one Aiden said he sent. He scrolls up and down, trying to find this supposed message Beckett had sent. It is nowhere to be seen. 

“I thought you said he responded to your last message?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Aiden, there’s nothing else here after your message,” Harry stares at the blonde in confusion.

“I know,” Aiden smiles innocently. “Now it’ll be a surprise for ‘ya when you see him tomorrow,” he winks and pats Harry on the shoulder as he walks into the living room and hops on the sofa, effectively ending the conversation. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” Harry shakes his head as he pockets his phone and makes his way towards the living room. “Thank you though, if you didn’t do that I definitely would’ve talked myself out of it.”

“Which is exactly why I did it,” he playfully rolls his eyes while reaching for the remote. “Now, what should we watch?” 

+++

Hearing the rowdiness of his teammates through the halls as he walks in the direction of the locker room, Harry begins to subconsciously walk slower. He takes these last few moments alone to really prepare himself for the game he is about to face. He soaks in the calmness, the quiet of the building and he exhales his last deep breath before he pushes the door to the locker room open. You’ve got this. 

He’s greeted with his teammates having a laugh as they all get ready. He smiles slightly and walks to his locker, opening it to take out his uniform and cleats. He quickly trades his jumper and joggers for his football jersey, his last name and the number seventeen emblazoned on the back, and a pair of shorts. He straps on his shin guards and slips his long socks up over them, trading his trainers for his brightly colored cleats. He folds his previously worn clothing and places it into his bag before shutting it inside his locker. 

He sits down on a nearby bench, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He takes another deep breath, letting the muscles in his face relax and repeating once again in his head, you’ve got this. His right leg starts to bounce, going a hundred kilometers a minute, as a way to get his nerves out. His heart is racing, pounding so hard, so fast like it’s trying to physically burst out of his chest. He hears it, his beating heart, practically feels the blood pumping throughout each and every vein. The deep breaths he’s been taking help some, but not exactly enough and he can’t wait to get his body out there on that pitch and let the adrenaline take over. He’s knocked out of his thoughts by his coach’s booming voice reverberating throughout the locker room.

“Alright, lads, let’s gather ‘round!”

Harry follows the hoard of his teammates towards the front of the locker room where their coach stands awaiting, a clipboard in his hands and a pencil tucked behind his ear. 

“You lot have been training for this exact moment for months now,” he begins his pep talk. “I fully believe each and everyone of you are prepared to go out there and do your absolute best on that field. Now, this is Harry’s first uni game,” his coach gives him a warm smile, “so let’s make it count!”

WIth that, the team cheers and starts heading out of the locker room. Harry smiles at the teammates that give him a pat on the back and an encouraging smile as they pass by him. He waits until every last person is out of the locker room before he makes his way to the door. He lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, takes one last calming breath and squares his shoulders before he pulls the door open to join his team on the pitch.

The lights are insanely bright and blinding as Harry strolls onto the pitch. He blinks a few times in order to adjust to the intense white of the overhead lights as he joins the rest of the team towards the middle of the field. The captain of the team, a student in their last year named Jacob, is standing in front of the team and guiding them in their stretches. He plops down in the grass next to Aiden and joins in the current stretch, straightening his right leg before bending his left one and crossing it over the right one. He brings his right arm to rest between his bent leg and his chest, sufficiently stretching the arm before he switches arms and legs. 

Glancing up from his stretching, he looks over into the stands to see if he can spot either of the guests he invited and notices Zayn waving at him with a smile dancing across his lips. Harry smiles back, giving his best mate a quick wave before resuming his stretches with the rest of the team.

After doing a few more stretches on the grass, the team does some standing stretches before leaving each person to settle into a good mindset for the game. Feeling like his quads are still a little tight, Harry decides to stretch them once more. He widens his stance to shoulder width, bending forward and placing his hands on the grass in front of him without having to move his knees in the slightest bit. Closing his eyes, he inhales slowly on a count of one, two, three, as he lets the stretch loosen up his muscles. He takes this moment as an opportunity to relax and get into his gameday headspace.

His body completely relaxes in this position, his brain practically shutting off. He no longer feels the pounding of his own heart like he had earlier, no longer feeling that painstakingly nervousness. Instead, he lets the adrenaline sweep in and begin to take over. Harry’s broken out of his trance by a loud wolf whistle, followed by what sounds like the same person yelling over the chatter of the other fans, “Okay number seventeen, I see how flexible you are!”

Harry freezes. Having been around that deep timbre for months now, he can recognize that voice anywhere. Opening his eyes, he scans the crowd through his slightly spread legs while still bent over, trying to find the owner of that crude remark. After all, Harry could be wrong about the mystery voice…there could be a number seventeen on the opposing team that someone’s trying to get the attention of. 

Locking eyes with Zayn, he gives Harry a look of confusion, clearly wondering who said that and why it seems directed at Harry. He mouths ‘who was that?’ at the curly-headed boy who responds with a frown and a similar look of confusion, mouthing a ‘ no idea ’ back. Harry continues to browse the crowd for another thirty seconds before finding the owner of that voice. 

Sitting just two rows behind his best mate is Beckett, with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. His elbows are resting on his knees and his hands are clasped in front of him. The older man sends him a wink once he notices he’s been spotted before he mouths a ‘ good luck ’ at the younger lad. A certain fondness spreads in Harry’s eyes and he smiles. He had known the older man said he would come, but for some reason a part of him had thought he wouldn’t be there. 

Blushing furiously, Harry playfully sticks his tongue out at the older man in response before he stands up and turns around, facing the stands. He waves at Beckett, a cheeky smile spread across his lips, but falters slightly when he reverts his attention back to his best mate who is now staring at him even more bewildered than he was before. He lets his hand drop back to his side and freezes, his eyes comically wide as he watches Zayn turn around to pick out who Harry had been waving at. The raven-haired lad must not notice Beckett, not that he even knows what the man looks like, and he turns to look back at Harry, his brows furrowed in question. Harry fakes innocence and just shrugs at his mate’s questioning look, giving one more wave aimed at both of his guests before turning around once more. 

Really can’t fuck up now, Harry thinks, not with him here. His nervousness has faded fully now with the help of knowing the two people he had invited actually came to support him. This motivates him to do his absolute best during this game. He proceeds to continue warming up, deciding to jog around the pitch a few times to get his blood pumping before the game starts. 

Seeing his teammates lining up for one last warmup shooting drill, he makes his way towards the eighteen and joins the end of the line they’ve formed. He bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet as he waits, and he collects a ball that’s passed to him from Aiden as he joins the back of the line. Harry steps up once it’s his turn, aiming a solid pass at his teammate stationed at the six and waiting for the pass back to set him up for a shot. The ball falls perfectly back to him, rolling softly over the penalty spot, and he straightens his shoulders and leans forward as he points his toe and strikes directly through the center of the ball, aiming for the left corner of the net. He feels more than he hears the thud that his foot makes against the ball, and his eyes track his shot as it lazers past the keeper into the side netting. He rolls his shoulders backwards, blowing out a breath and lightly jogging to replace his teammate at the six as he lays the ball off for the next person. He feels good, he feels like he could float away with the fizzy energy underneath his skin. He takes a few more shots, each of them resulting in the satisfying whish of ball connecting with net. He feels ready. He feels good.

The nerves set back in as his team huddles up with coach before taking the field. “Alright lads,” he starts his speech, with passion behind his tone, “I’ve already said everything I need to say. We’ve been working hard for this moment. Let’s get our season started off on the right foot, eh? Starters today are going to be…” Harry zones him out, psyching himself up for the game. It’s really, finally here, and it’s finally happening. After everything, everything, he’s standing on the pitch about to play his first game in uni. His eyes flick back over to the stands, looking for the familiar faces he knows will be there. He locks gazes with a familiar pair of blue eyes, and sees the crinkles around Beckett’s eyes form as he grins at him fondly. He feels a smile form on his own face in response– “and Styles, you’ll be up top. Let’s get this, boys.” Harry jolts at hearing his name, and snaps his head back to Coach with wide eyes. All he receives is a nod in response, but as his teammates make their way onto the pitch he feels a hand grab his shoulder to hold him back. “Kid, I believe in you, you know that?” Coach says, sincerity in his gaze and a seriousness in his tone that he doesn’t often exhibit. “You wouldn’t be on this field, hell, you wouldn’t even be on this team if I didn’t think you could handle it. Go out there and show everybody else what I see, alright?” Harry just nods, seriously, purposefully. He knows better than anyone what he’s sacrificed to be here, and he knows he has what it takes.

With the words of praise from his coach ringing in his ears and crinkled blue eyes flashing across his brain, Harry practically skips out to the circle. I can do this, he thinks, firmly and surely. I got this. His team had won the coin toss, so he steps up to the ball in the center and braces himself for the shrill whistle of the official that marks the start of the game. Once he hears it, he quickly knocks the ball to the player behind him on the edge of the circle, and then he’s off, sprinting forward into the opposing team’s territory.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is pissed. He feels like they’ve started the game slow – the other team isn’t all that good, certainly not better than them, but they haven’t been able to gain any true advantage despite all of Harry’s efforts. Every time he gets the ball, Harry feels like he’s tripped up over his own feet, like his mind is moving faster than his body can. He’s been running back and forth, dropping back to defend probably further than he should be in the midfield, but he wants to be there to help his teammates. The next time the ball goes out of bounds, he hears his name being yelled from the midfield line; he looks over, and sees his teammate Jamie gesture that he is subbing in for him, waving a pinnie and starting to run towards Harry. He sucks in a breath, chest deflating as he makes his way quickly over to the bench. Before he can get a word out, his coach is handing him a water bottle and tugging him to the side. 

“Alright, Styles. You’re doing fine.” Harry hangs his head, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the “but take a seat on the bench now, you had your shot ” but it doesn’t come. Instead, Coach squeezes his shoulder. “Hey, none of that. You really are doing fine, you just need to get out of your own head. Take some deep breaths. Work hard to get the ball, like you’ve been doing, and then take a second to look up and see what you’ve got. You have more time than you think out there, and you’re a smart player. Take advantage of it.” Harry nods, lips parted slightly, 

“O-okay. Okay,” he repeats, more strongly. “Look at my options. Take an extra second. I can do that.” He exhales, squirting a stream of water into his mouth. 

“Take a breather,” Coach tells him, “and then I’m getting you back out there. Go get us on the board.”

Harry collects himself on the bench for a moment, getting encouraging slaps from his teammates. “The center back looks weak on his left,” his teammate Sam points out, “he’s really forcing you to his strong side, and that puts you on your left foot. If you do a move to get around him the other way, you’ve got him beat.” 

The curly-haired boy scrunches his eyebrows, repeating “weak on his left, fake him and go right.” He nods. “Thanks, mate.” A matter of minutes later, Harry is called back up to the middle line, returning to the pitch. He gets the ball and distributes it a second slower, and it works like magic. He’s moving the ball and the possession shifts even more in their team’s favor. He looks at the clock to see there are ten minutes until the half, and he feels a fire light under him. The next time he gets the ball on a perfect counterattack off the other team’s corner, he knows it’s his chance. He races down the field and sees Jamie ahead of him to his left. An opposing defender lunges towards the ball, and he lightly dances around him with the ball, opening up his stride through the space in front of him in the midfield. He looks up to see only three defenders between him, Jamie, and the goal, and as he approaches the center defender he remembers – fake, go right. He slows a bit, before doing a stepover and pushing the ball to the right with the outside of his right foot. He explodes out of the move, blowing past the defender, and sees open field. He surveys again, and sees Jamie streaking ahead of him towards the goal. He places a cross perfectly in front of Jamie, and watches as he swings in perfect stride and slots the ball into the bottom right corner. 

Harry sprints at Jamie and wraps him in a bear hug, cheering as all of their teammates join in the celebration. “‘Atta way, lads! Let’s go!” is screamed directly into his ear, but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s too elated. Their first goal in his first game, and he was able to assist it! His team walks back to their half with some more life, buzzing with energy. The rest of the half passes in a blur, their team keeping most of the possession for the last few minutes but unable to capitalize on any more opportunities. At halftime, Harry chugs some more water and sips some Gatorade, downing a pack of gummies for a little bit of extra energy. Coach goes over the first half and discusses what they need to be doing in the second half to improve, and Harry listens raptly. Then they’re cheering and returning back to the field, the team focusing on high pressure from the get-go.

The half gets underway uneventfully, and the minutes tick by as Harry watches the clock. However, with fifteen minutes left in the game, he watches helplessly as the other team capitalizes on a beautiful header off of a corner kick that whizzes by their goalie’s outstretched hand. Harry feels the panic claw up his throat as their lead is taken away, and he takes some deep breaths to recenter himself on the game. 

However, the play only gets chippier from there. Harry gets tackled by a player on the other team studs-up, which results a card for the other player and a distinctly distressed yell from a certain familiar voice on the sideline. The green-eyed boy just pulls himself off of the pitch, dusting himself off and setting the ball for his teammate to handle the free kick and making his way up the field with a faintly stinging ankle. He dares a glance up at the time, and panics at the number two he sees flashing back at him–only two minutes and eight seconds until the game is over. They have to score, and it’s now or never. 

Harry gets the ball back and races down the field, passing it off to a player to his right only for their touch to go too far in front of them and get intercepted by the defender. The ball is headed the other direction down the pitch, and the other team possesses it for some time before taking a hard shot from just inside the eighteen. Harry winces, feeling his heart in his throat, but their keeper is able to grab it in steady hands and then he’s punting the ball to midfield where Harry is waiting in no time. Having just glanced at the clock and seeing that there were 20 seconds left, he knows he has to be speedy in getting the ball up the field. He pivots and races forward, flanked by players on his team on either side of him. He sees two defenders in front, the other players having shifted forward in their last minute attempt to score. As Harry nears the goal, he sees Sam is to his left running just in front of him; he quickly passes the ball off to him and sprints past the defender in front of him, asking for the ball back in the open space in front of the goal.

Everything is in slow motion from there, or maybe in hyperspeed. Sam drops the ball off perfectly in front of Harry. Just like in warmup, Harry raises his head and surveys the goal. He leans his body forward over the ball. Inhales. Swings his leg perfectly through the middle, aiming his follow through at the left inside netting of the goal.

Harry doesn’t even need to watch to know it’s going to go in. He doesn’t need to, but he hears the sound of the ball hitting the net and drops to his knees in elation.

The buzzer goes off.

He’s in disbelief. He’s surrounded, everywhere, his teammates cheering and grabbing at him and patting him on the back. “Gooooooal! Styles, the freshman, with the buzzerbeater! Leeds wins, to begin their season at 1-0.” he vaguely hears over the speakers, still muffled by excited shouting in his ears. He’s high on adrenaline as he’s hoisted off the ground, and then he’s slapping hands with the other team and saying “good game, good game, mate,” and he can’t stop smiling. 

+++

Harry stands in the middle of the field, a giant grin spread on his face and a sparkle shining in his eyes. The game has just ended, they had just won their first game of the season, and he was the one that scored the winning goal. His entire team had cheered and patted him on the back, telling him ‘good job, mate,’ ‘that was a sick shot,’ and all sorts of other praises before they started making their way towards the locker room. The entire pitch is nearly empty now, most of the fans in the stands having left and the teams in their separate locker rooms. He’s in his own little world at this moment, the disbelief taking over. He cannot believe he, as a first year, scored the winning goal for his first ever uni game. He shakes his head and grins, picking up his water bottle and following his team to hit the showers quickly.

Leaving the locker room and adjusting his duffel on his shoulder, Harry briskly makes his way across the pitch towards the bleachers, water dripping down his neck from his quick shower. Unsure of who to greet first, his eyes flicker back and forth between both Zayn and Beckett, still seated only two rows apart. While he’s grateful neither of them know what the other looks like, he can’t help but wonder if they made awkward small talk while waiting for him to return. 

Before he can make his decision of who he should acknowledge, Beckett decides for him by clobbering down the bleachers to meet Harry on the platform. He visibly relaxes at the sight of a familiar face and smiles.

“Hey babe,” the deep voice, the same that had shouted that crude remark earlier, rumbles out. 

“Hi,” Harry replies breathlessly, a smile still gracing his lips. 

“You played so well, baby,” Beckett grabs the younger man by the wrist and pulls him closer, giving Harry a quick peck on the lips before wrapping him in a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Shut up, you’re just saying that,” Harry breathes out. Wrapping his arms around the taller man’s torso, Harry rests his head in the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent. 

“I most definitely am not, honestly! First of all, their center back didn’t see you coming the entire game. And that final shot? That was incredible,” he says while lifting Harry’s chin up and being sure to look directly into his eyes. “They underestimated you because you’re new, be sure to use that to your advantage. You’re amazing and you absolutely deserve your spot on this team,” he finishes his pep talk by kissing Harry on the tip of his nose. 

Rendered speechless by Beckett’s blatant honesty, Harry blushes even harder than before. Not knowing what to say, he wraps his arms around the older man tightly. 

“Thank you,” he chokes out.

“Of course, H. No tears, it’s a happy night.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry mumbles and pulls back slightly with a coy smile on his face. “So… you think I’m flexible, huh?” 

“Obviously,” the older man smirks back. “Quite a show you put on there as well after I mentioned it.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Beck. That’s a classic quad stretch, had to get nice and loose for the game,” Harry says while nipping slightly at the older man’s jaw. 

“Mmm yeah, I bet. In fact, I think for playing such a great first game you deserve a reward,” he whispers sensually in his ear. “Care for a nightcap?” 

“Definitely,” he says, eyes sparkling with mirth at the idea of what his reward could possibly be. “I just have to do something really quick, I’ll meet you in the parking lot?”

“Not a problem, see you in a bit,” Beckett pecks Harry’s lips once more before grabbing the duffel bag off his shoulder and leaving the pitch. 

Harry has practically melted into a puddle on the platform watching Beckett’s retreating figure, not noticing his best friend waltzing his way down the bleachers. Harry snaps out of it when he hears the boy clear his throat, face to face with a glint of mischief in his hazel-colored eyes. 

“So…” Zayn starts. “That’s Daddy, huh?”

“That’s Beckett, yeah,” Harry blushes at his mate’s use of the older man’s contact name.

“He’s fit,” the raven-haired lad nods as if confirming his statement.

“Zayn!” Harry lightly slaps the other boy on the shoulder, his eyes wide. 

“What! It’s the truth!” Zayn chuckles. “It’s a compliment, you git.”

“Thanks, I guess,” the curly-haired boy rolls his eyes playfully. 

“I take it you’re not coming over for a celebratory spliff?”

“Mind if we take a rain check? I’m sorta…” Harry moves his head side to side as a gesture before finishing with, “...celebrating with him.”

“You’re ditching me for dick?” Zayn feigns offense, resting a hand against his chest. 

Harry blanches. Does his best mate really think he would do that? He stutters out an, “I- uh, I can tell him never mind?”

“Kidding!” Zayn laughs, slapping Harry lightly on the shoulder. “Fucking hell, mate. Relax, I’m happy for you. Like I said, he’s fit. If you weren’t going back to his, I’d be judging you.”

Feeling his heart rate return back to normal, Harry narrows his eyes at his best friend. “I hate you for that.”

“No you don’t. You better tell me everything,” Zayn pulls Harry off the platform and drags him in the direction of the car park. 

“You don’t deserve the details anymore, prick.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Who else are you going to blab to, if not me?”

“I have other friends,” Harry knocks his shoulder into the raven-haired boy, knowing he’s right. 

“Mhm, sure,” Zayn snarks back, rolling his eyes as he shoves Harry forward slightly when they spot Beckett’s car and smacks his ass. “Now, go get that dick.”

Tripping over himself a bit, Harry turns and glares at his best mate, flipping him off in the process. Zayn laughs and sends Harry a small wave before getting into his own car. 

Harry turns back around and opens the passenger side door, watching as Beckett looks up from his phone and smiles. 

“Long time no see,” the older man greets.

“Sorry for taking so long,” the green-eyed man apologizes, hopping into the passenger seat.

“No biggie, you ready to go?” Beckett gestures his head behind him. 

“More than ever,” Harry breathes out as he reaches over to buckle himself in. 

“Eager, are we?” the blue-eyed man chuckles before pocketing his phone and reversing out of the spot.

“Well, when one promises a reward, one may get a little excited at the prospect of what’s to come,” Harry smirks at the other man.

“As you should, you deserve it,” the older man glances over at the curly-headed lad seated to his left and smirks. He moves his left hand from the center console and drapes it over Harry’s left thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Especially after that last shot.” 

“Yeah, I can’t believe I made it with just seconds to spare,” Harry breathes out in disbelief, shaking his head with a toothy grin on his face. He doesn’t even acknowledge the hand the older man had on his thigh that is now gradually inching upwards. “So, uh,” he clears his throat, “what’s my reward going to be, Beck?”

“Hmm,” Beckett hums as if in thought, resting his hand over the younger man’s slowly growing bulge. “I think that is for me to know, and for you to find out, baby.” He gives a light squeeze and Harry whimpers. 

“Please tell me, Beck,” the curly-headed man whines, his green eyes pleading the older man to his right. “I wanna know.”

“No,” Beckett shoots the younger lad a quick stern look. “Be a good boy and wait, or you won’t get your reward tonight.”

Harry slumps in his seat and lets a slight pout take over his face, crossing his arms over his chest despite the hand that is now trailing inside his loose joggers he had slipped on after his shower. He bites his lip to stifle his moan as the hand brushes the tip of his half hard cock. 

“No pants? Eager boy,” the older man tsks, shaking his head slightly as he continues to drive, paying no mind to the other man besides his teasing. 

Harry tries to ignore the light touches he is receiving on his most sensitive body part, intending to give the older man the silent treatment. A few minutes pass by in which he succeeds in this plan, the hand of the older man giving nothing but delicate touches that effectively make his dick grow. Once he’s fully hard in his joggers, Beckett takes a hold of his cock and gently squeezes. Harry gasps, his small grudge dissolving instantly. 

“Stop teasing, Beck,” he whines once more, squirming in his seat.

“I’m sorry, who?” Beckett raises an eyebrow, dragging his thumb across the curly-headed man’s slit and collecting some precum before he begins to stroke up and down.

“Daddy, please stop teasing,” Harry continues to whine, his squirming intensifying in an attempt to get away from the incessant touches.

“Be still, baby, we’re almost there,” the older man admonishes, continuing his light strokes of the other’s cock.

Harry whines high in his throat, but does as he was told and tries his absolute best to not move. A few more minutes go by with Beckett teasing Harry and the green-eyed lad stifling his noises behind his hand, shifting in his seat every once in a while, before the older man pulls into his driveway. Beckett releases Harry’s cock, pulling his hand out of the younger’s joggers to put the car in park. 

“C’mon, babe, let’s go inside, yeah?” Beckett punctuates his words with a nod of his head, gesturing towards the front door.

Harry nods in agreement, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching behind to grab his footie bag from the backseat before he opens his car door and scrambles out. He slings his bag over his shoulder and follows Beckett up the few steps to his house. They both toe off their shoes at the front door and Harry sets his footie bag on the sofa in the living room. He watches as Beckett gestures for him to accompany him to the kitchen and Harry readily follows a few steps behind the older man, his sock-clad feet making a soft pitter-patter on the hardwood flooring. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Beckett asks Harry before turning to the refrigerator. 

“Sure, whatever you’re having is cool with me,” he replies as he leans against the island, in the middle of the kitchen. 

Humming in acknowledgement, Beckett grabs two beers and pops them open with a bottle opener before handing one to Harry. He furrows his eyebrows upon seeing the copious amount of beer in the older man’s fridge.

“What’s with all the beer? Having a party or something?” Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow and taking a long swig and licking his lips afterward. 

“No, I wish,” he chuckles. “I told the lads we’re having team bonding here tomorrow so I figured I’d stock up.” 

“Serving your players alcohol? Doesn’t seem very responsible if you ask me.”

“Who said I was responsible? Besides, you’re the one drinking the night before an early morning practice and class, so how’s that for being responsible?” Beckett retorts, taking the few steps towards Harry. 

“Actually, practice is in the afternoon tomorrow,” Harry replies smugly. Reaching his hand out and tucking his fingers into the waistband of his joggers, pulling him closer. 

“Is it now?” Beckett runs his nose along the side of Harry’s neck, closing the space between them and nipping lightly.

“Uh huh,” he replies breathily, tilting his head to the side as Beckett leaves open-mouthed kisses along his pulse point. 

“Hmm,” the older man drawls. “That mean I can keep you up as long as I want, baby?” His arms wrapping around Harry’s arse. 

“Mmm, I still have class in the morning,” Harry answers as Beckett lifts him up and sets him on the countertop he had been leaning against. “But I don’t mind skipping.”

Harry spreads his legs wider, allowing Beckett to step in between them before hugging his thighs with his own. 

“And you tried calling me irresponsible,” the older man shakes his head, angling his face to brush their lips together. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says, smiling against his lips and trailing his hands into Beckett’s hair, ankles crossing behind his back. Their opened bottles of beer are long forgotten now. 

“Sure,” Beckett whispers, pulling Harry closer to his body. Beckett trails a hand up to Harry’s jaw and brings the younger man in for a deep kiss. The stubble on the older man’s chin scratches Harry’s clean-shaven face, but he loves the slight pain. Harry’s fingers tighten in Beckett’s hair, his mouth opening wider as their tongues tangle together. 

Wrapping his arms around Harry’s back, Beckett tugs him impossibly closer. The younger man is now on the very edge of the counter, his neglected cock still straining in his joggers from earlier in the car as they softly groan into each other’s mouths. He softly grinds up into the older man, trying desperately to get any sort of friction. Light touches trail from his back to the front of his torso and under his shirt, Beckett’s fingers ghosting over one of his nipples. 

Moaning into his mouth, Harry’s hips stutter as he kisses Beckett even harder. Beckett begins toying with his right nipple, rolling the nub between his fingers, drawing a needy whine from Harry. He pulls back from the kiss, sucking in a much needed breath and lets out a stuttered moan as the older man brings his other hand under his shirt to toy with his other nipple. 

Beckett pulls back slightly and Harry drops his hands from the older man’s hair, resting them on the countertop. The raven-haired man trails his hands to the bottom of the younger man’s shirt and tugs, pulling the shirt off of him when he lifts his arms. Harry leans back on the countertop, his nipples at the perfect height for Beckett to suck on them. The older man leans down and takes Harry’s right nipple into his mouth, lightly biting at the round nub, sucking languidly. 

Harry subconsciously ruts into the older man, letting out a loud moan when he feels a harsh bite on his nipple. The pain quickly subsides into pleasure as he soothes the sting with his tongue, using his other hand to tease the other nub. Harry lets his right hand fly to Beckett’s head, grabbing ahold of his hair and leaning on his other hand. 

Pulling off his chest, Beckett blows on the puffy nipple and Harry shivers at the sensation, giving the older man a questioning look. Beckett smirks before he starts trailing kisses up Harry’s chest to his neck. Reaching just below the younger man’s ear, he whispers, “Don’t move.” before sucking a love bite at the nape of his neck. Lips moving across the column of his throat to the other side, leaving a matching mark, nipping at the skin once more when he’s done. 

Eyes fluttering shut, he nods wordlessly, breath picking up again as he feels the other man’s lips scatter love bites down his chest. He tugs on the older man’s hair and sucks in a sharp breath, trying to grind into him once more. Beckett pulls away and gives Harry a stern look. “I said don’t move.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry replies, eyes shooting open. His eyes rake across his own body, noticing the countless marks Beckett left across his upper body, knowing he did it purposely for the rest of his team to see tomorrow afternoon. Getting impossibly harder at the thought of everyone knowing what he was up to tonight, he whines high in his throat. 

Beckett smirks up at him, fingers moving towards the waistband of Harry’s joggers. “I think you deserve your reward now,” he says while tilting his head to the side. 

“Mmm,” Harry whines, halting his movements. “Please.”  

“Yeah, baby,” Beckett grabs onto Harry’s waist, pulling him off the counter. “Bend over the counter, ‘m gonna eat you out.” 

Harry obeys, turning around and bending over the counter he was previously sitting on, pushing his arse out. He feels the older man’s fingers glide into the waistband of his joggers, tugging them down his legs and he gasps as his naked arse is exposed to the cold air. 

Harry rests his blushing face on his folded arms, hearing Beckett shuffle on the floor behind him as he feels his hands cup each cheek. Blushing harder as he feels Beckett rub his hands over his arse, kissing random spots and pressing his fingers just beside his rim. 

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry whines, trying to push his arse even further into the older man’s hands. 

“So eager,” Beckett whispers, squeezing once and letting go, pressing a kiss to his right arse cheek before sucking a love bite in the same spot. “Now, you’ll be reminded of who owns this arse every time you sit.” 

Harry lets out a moan at the older man’s words, his cock somehow becoming harder and dripping precum onto the side of the counter. Beckett’s hands are quickly back on his arse, spreading his cheeks apart to get better access to his hole. He feels the older man lick a hot stripe from his taint up to his hole, pushing his face even further. 

His body begins to shake as the stubble of Beckett’s beard starts harshly rubbing against his smooth, sensitive skin. Instead of letting him squirm away from the burn, Beckett doesn’t let up as his tongue continues to lick broad strokes along his rim, getting him sloppy and wet. Feeling a slight twinge in his neck, he doesn’t stop, nor does he want to. Continuous moans leave Harry’s mouth, his back arching and pushing his arse impossibly further onto the older man’s tongue, fueling his ego. 

There’s spit dripping down his chin when Beckett pulls back, breathing deeply. “Your arse… you taste so good,” he cuts himself off as he dives back in. He tightens his grip on Harry’s cheeks, nibbling at his rim, causing Harry to choke out a moan. 

Harry’s moans are barely audible over the slurping sounds Beckett makes, his arse tensing slightly from the way his stubble scratches his inner thighs the deeper he pushes. 

“Daddy,” Harry mumbles into his folded arms. “Daddy, fuck—”

Knowing it hurts, but not enough to stop, Harry takes his left arm and reaches behind himself, gripping Beckett’s hair. Making his head move from side to side, purposely letting his beard mark his thighs up even further. 

Beckett pulls back once more and looks at the beautiful sight before him. He’s holding Harry open, rim already puffy and slick with spit with his inner thighs looking rubbed raw. Unable to help himself, he leans back in and pushes his tongue in as deep as it can go. 

Harry’s skin is damp, tears beginning to form in his eyes. Gripping even tighter onto Beckett’s hair, he moves his head again, while trying to clench down on his tongue. He lets out a tiny cry when he feels a thumb press against his pink and puffy hole. 

“I think you’re forgetting who’s in charge here, baby,” Beckett mumbles with his face buried between Harry’s cheeks, pressing his finger even harder onto his hole. 

“This is my reward,” he chokes out. “I’m allowed to be greedy.” 

He lets out another loud moan as he feels a sharp smack on his right arse cheek. “You can be greedy without being demanding.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry says as he loosens his grip on Beckett’s hair. Slapping his hand back on the marble countertop when he feels his tongue brush against his sore opening once more. 

Beckett replaces his thumb with his pointer finger, licking around the rim before nudging it inside and immediately searching for Harry’s prostate. He knows he found the nub when Harry lets out a yelp, his body squirming against the countertop. Beckett moves his tongue to Harry’s inner thighs, wedging his face in between them as he takes his other hand and thumbs behind Harry’s balls, pressing lightly on his taint as he fingers him deeper. 

Harry hears Beckett spit, and he jumps slightly when he feels the warm, thick liquid hit his arse. He relishes in the slight pain of a second finger entering his hole, wanting nothing more than to reach around his front and grip his cock. 

“Fuck, Daddy, can I touch m’self, please?” Harry slurs out, tangling his hands together and gripping tightly in order to ignore the urge to reach down and touch. 

“No, baby, you’re gonna come from just my fingers and my tongue,” Beckett pulls back to answer. “And then, I’m gonna take you into my room, make you come again, and then I’m gonna fuck your pretty little ass and make you come undone on m’cock.” 

With fingers rubbing relentlessly on his prostate, Harry’s mouth is stuck open in a silent scream. His thighs begin to shake as Beckett’s fingers move faster and harder, the older man moving his face back up to lick around Harry’s hole and wiggling his tongue inside alongside his fingers. 

Slapping the countertop once more, he ruts his hips forward and away from Beckett’s mouth at the overstimulation, the beard burn almost on the brink of becoming too much. Instead of making a retort, he hears Beckett grunt and pull his hips back to latch his mouth back on his stretched hole. Tongue sliding even deeper inside of the other boy, quickening his pace in pumping his fingers in and out. Harry gasps for breath and rocks his hips back onto Beckett’s face, unable to decide if he wants him to add another finger or test his luck and reach a hand around himself. 

Beckett flicks his tongue even faster, loud whimpers leaving Harry’s panting mouth as his cock continues dripping precum onto the kitchen floor. Shuddering on Beckett’s tongue as the flare of heat continues to ignite at the base of his spine. 

He hears another loud slurp before he feels the twinge of stubble drag against his arsecheeks even harder. 

“Fuck, almost—Daddy, please don’t stop,” he pants out. Beckett takes that as an invitation to greedily grip Harry’s arsecheeks with both hands, fingertips sinking into his skin. Nibbling on his puffy rim once more, before nuzzling his face in deeper, purposely rubbing his beard onto Harry’s inner cheeks. 

Clenching his hands into fists, Harry holds off on his orgasm for just a little longer, not wanting this moment to end. But with one more jab to his prostate, he’s coming undone and untouched onto the cabinet below him. 

When Beckett comes up for air, he keeps Harry spread. His hole is nice, pink, and swollen, still dripping with saliva. Blowing on his wet hole, Harry’s body gives an involuntary shiver, goosebumps appearing almost immediately. Looking down even further, Beckett notices that the skin on his inner thighs are soaked as well, and bright red from the constant friction from his beard. 

“So pretty,” Beckett whispers. He runs a thumb along the sensitive skin and Harry hisses slightly from the pressure. 

There are visible scratches on Harry’s skin, not only between his thighs but between his arsecheeks as well. He knows it’s going to hurt even worse in the morning, but he knows Harry loves the pain. 

Harry pants against the countertop, coming down from his high. He gives himself a few moments to gather himself, feeling light touches run across his back from the older man behind him as an attempt to help him calm down. When he finally stands up, Beckett lets his hand drop back to his side and he turns around to face the older man. He hisses from the friction of his raw thighs rubbing together, his dick twitching from the pleasure the pain brings. 

Beckett brings a hand up to caress the younger man’s cheek. “Are you okay to continue, babe?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” Harry bites his lip. “I believe you promised me two more orgasms.”

“That I did,” Beckett nods, smirking at the younger man. He brings a hand to rest on Harry’s lower back, “C’mon, baby, let’s go to the bedroom.” 

Harry’s knees are wobbly and shaky after standing for so long, added with the intense rimjob he just received. He slowly turns around, hissing as his thighs rub together for the first time, feeling how chaffed they already are and knowing how much worse they’re about to get. Instead of dreading the feeling of not being able to walk properly for the next week, he welcomes the pain knowing it’s going to be something to remember Beckett by, already loving where this reward is getting him. 

Beckett wraps his arm around Harry’s waist and takes a small step backwards, guiding Harry to follow him out of the kitchen. Harry wordlessly follows with tiny steps, allowing Beckett to move him towards the direction of the bedroom, his knees buckling slightly. 

When they get to the doorway, Harry takes a look inside the room, how warm and inviting the bed looks, knowing they’re going to be doing much more than sleeping there tonight. The green-eyed boy nearly whines as Beckett leads him to the bed, practically manhandling him onto the mattress and gently nudging Harry to the middle of the bed and laying him out. Eyes already rimmed red and glassy, Harry looks pathetically desperate; half-hard once more, fingers twitching with the intent to touch. 

Before he can ask for permission, he feels Beckett gently flip him onto his front and place a pillow underneath his hips. Grateful for the friction on his cock, Harry grinds his hips back and forth once before feeling another harsh smack on his arse, a silent command telling him to stop moving. In response to that, he simply pushes his arse out for Beckett to do as he pleases. 

Folding his arms in front of himself and resting his head, Harry cranes his neck to the side, watching hungrily as Beckett walks away from the bed to shut the door before heading back towards him, stripping himself of his shirt. Closing his eyes and sighing, he heard Beckett fumble through his bedside table to retrieve the bottle of lube and a condom, feeling the bottle roll against his hip after he places it on the bed next to him. 

Beckett runs his fingers along the knobs of Harry’s spine, palming his sore arse lightly enough to make Harry sigh and bury his face deeper into his arms, back arching even more. The older man leans down right by Harry’s ear to whisper, “can’t wait to make you come undone from just my fingers.” Harry feels the heat of his body so close to his as he squeezes his right arse cheek. “And after that, I’m going to turn you around so I can see your pretty little face while I fuck you nice and deep, gonna make sure you can feel me for days.” 

“Oh fuck,” Harry moans at the older man’s dirty words, his hips giving an involuntary thrust to try and get some sort of friction on his cock that is now fully hard. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby?” Beckett asks, uncapping the bottle of lube and pouring a generous amount onto his fingers. 

“Yes, Daddy, m’always good for you,” Harry says, gasping as he feels Beckett spread his cheeks and slide two fingers into him, immediately up to the second knuckle. Harry chokes out a moan at the sting, welcoming the pain and grinding his hips back as Beckett curls them deep. 

Pulling his fingers almost all the way out and thrusting them back in, Beckett twists and scissors his fingers, and all Harry can do is try and keep his breath steady as the older man purposely ignores his spot. “Taking my fingers so well, baby, m’gonna get you nice and wet and open, ready to take my cock.”

“Ngh,” Harry groans out as he feels the older man ease in a third finger. The slight burn of the stretch making him even more desperate and pushing his arse out further, clenching around them and hoping to get his fingers even deeper inside of him. “Daddy, please stop teasing.” 

Harry bites his lip to stifle a needy whine when he feels the tips of Beckett’s fingers ghost against his prostate. 

“Such a needy boy,” Beckett murmurs, squeezing Harry’s left arse cheek before lifting it to rain down a light smack. “So desperate for it… want me to touch your spot, baby? Make you feel good?”

“Please,” Harry releases his lip to whine, looking back at the older man with wide, desperate eyes. “Fuck me with your fingers, Daddy, make me feel good, please.”

“As you wish, babe,” Beckett smirks at the younger man, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pulls his fingers out and roughly shoves them back in. Harry chokes out a moan as the older man’s fingers rub relentlessly at his prostate.

He feels Beckett’s slicked fingers pull out and he whines high in his throat at the emptiness, cutting his whine into a moan as he hears the older man spit on his opened hole before harshly pushing his fingers back in, a loud squelching sound filling the room. Harry lets his head fall back, his eyes rolling back into his head and letting out the most obscene moan. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me,” Beckett groans, gripping Harry’s hip with his other hand. “You hear that, babe? Hear how wet you are, how desperate your little hole sounds?”

“Mmm, yes,” Harry groans, pushing his hips back with every thrust of Beckett’s fingers. “Oh, god, your fingers feel so good, Daddy, fuck.”

Precum drips from his cock, smearing onto the pillow that is currently holding his hips up. Tears begin brimming at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming amount of pleasure, threatening to spill over and run down his cheeks. He lies his head back on the bed, arching his back to push his arse up even further as Beckett continues to mercilessly jab at his prostate with his fingers. Uncontrollable moans spill out of his mouth, the only other sound in the room besides the squelching noises of Beckett moving his fingers in and out of Harry’s hole, lube mixing with saliva as he licks around his fingers once more. 

“You’re so tight,” Beckett says as he fucks his fingers roughly. “Aren’t you just a pretty little slut?” 

Harry whines as a knot begins to coil in his stomach, a sign of his impending second orgasm of the night. “Fuck, Daddy—ngh, gonna,” he sucks in a huge gasp of air, “gonna come.” 

“Yeah, baby?” Beckett brings his face back up to the younger man’s ear to whisper, angling his fingers deeper. “You gonna come for me? Make a mess of my pillow?”

“Yes, just,” Harry pants. “Just keep going, fuck.” 

Beckett speeds up the thrusts of his fingers, nailing the younger man’s prostate each time. “Love how desperate you get, just from having my fingers. Even more so when you’re stuffed full of my cock.” 

Harry opens his mouth wide as if he was going to scream, but no sound comes out. The knot in his stomach continues to tighten with each of Beckett’s thrusts until it finally pops and Harry is overcome with his second orgasm of the night, his cock shooting short spurts of come onto the pillow and body shuddering with aftershocks. The tears that had been building up earlier finally spill over the brim of his eyes, coating his cheeks. Beckett slowly eases his fingers out of the younger man and Harry whines at the emptiness, feeling the older man grab him by the hips and flip him around once more so that they are once again face to face.

“Hi, baby,” Beckett smiles when he’s greeted with Harry’s glossy, green eyes. “You okay?”

“‘M good…” Harry mumbles, a delirious smile on his face and blinking languidly “Really good.”

“Good enough to keep going?” Beckett questions, caressing Harry’s cheek and gently wiping his tears away with his thumb. Concern is evident in the older man’s blue eyes and Harry’s slightly hazy mind clears. 

“Yeah, m’good,” Harry nods, bringing his hands to wrap around the back of Beckett’s neck. “Kiss me, please.”

Beckett smiles as he leans down, pressing his lips to the younger man’s own red-bitten ones. Harry kisses back eagerly, opening his mouth and letting the older man slide his tongue in. He trails his hands up the back of Beckett’s neck, tangling them in his hair and lightly pulling, drawing out low groans from the older man. He closes his eyes as he feels Beckett move his hand from his face, trailing it down his body until he reaches his half-hard cock and tugs a few times. Harry whimpers at the sensitivity, the overstimulation pleasurably painful. 

Just from the way Beckett’s intently looking into his eyes, Harry gets hard fast. He spreads his legs as far as he can to accommodate the older man’s body in between them. “Please, Daddy, please,” he whines. 

Smirking, Beckett twists his hand on the upstroke, lightly digging a blunt fingernail into Harry’s slit. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” Harry cries out, back arching off the bed, fingers tightening in the other man’s hair. “Want it—please,” he whimpers as he feels more tears pricking in the corners of his eyes. 

Pulling his hand off of Harry’s cock, Beckett sits back on his haunches and licks his palm before reaching down to touch himself. Exhaling slightly in relief, he wraps a hand around himself and swipes his thumb over the head. After a few pumps, he squeezes himself at the base as his mouth opens slightly and a ragged breath escapes his parted lips. With his other hand, he reaches for the neglected condom by Harry’s hip and winks before bringing the foil packet up to his mouth and rips it open with his teeth, looking at the other boy hungrily as he gives himself one last tug before rolling it onto himself. 

Looking down at the lube dripping out of Harry’s hole, Beckett takes his cock and slaps his head over it before nudging forward to push into the tight ring of muscle, both men letting out guttural moans. Gripping Harry’s hip with the other hand, blazing blue eyes bore into green as Harry’s fingers leave his hair to claw at the sheets beside him, not knowing what to do with his hands. 

Beckett placates him by rubbing soothing circles on his hip and leaning forward into the crook of Harry’s neck. “That’s it, baby,” he whispers into his damp skin, grinding forward so his cock slides in completely. “Taking my cock so well, always so good for me.” 

Harry’s eyes roll back into his head as Beckett pushes his cock in as deep as it can go, their hips sitting flush together. His fingers grip even tighter in the sheets before bringing his hands up into the older man’s hair, bringing his face from his neck towards his lips and bringing them together. 

Swallowing each other’s moans as Beckett thrusts shallowly, aiming for the younger man’s prostate. He knows he hit it when Harry’s hands tighten in his hair and he pulls back from the kiss. 

“Oh, God—fuck—oh my God,” Harry moans, his eyes squeezing shut. “Right there, Daddy, fuck.” 

Beckett’s thrusts speed up, nailing Harry’s prostate directly and deeply, ragged breaths shared between them. Harry’s eyes flutter open, staring intensely into the older man’s blue eyes as he continuously rocks into him. Taking his free hand from beside Harry’s head, Beckett moves it to the column of his throat and squeezes which makes Harry moan even louder. He nips at a spot right below Harry’s ear, scratching him with his beard. “Yeah? You like that?” Beckett sucks on the skin particularly hard, sure to leave another mark. 

Harry takes his legs from where they’re bent bracketing Beckett’s pistoning hips and brings them up to wrap around his waist, crossing his ankles right above the small of his back; legs bouncing from the force of his thrusts. Harry envelops his arms around Beckett’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss, releasing moans into each other’s mouths. 

“Holy fu—please,” he begs, nearly on the verge of tears. “More.”

As if just now noticing Harry’s legs around his waist, he grabs one thigh and guides it up to rest on his shoulder, tapping the opposite leg in a silent command to have Harry bring it up himself. Not slowing down Beckett continues his steady rhythm, with the new angle he pulls out halfway and thrusts back in, Harry clenching hard around his cock. 

Harry just takes it, nice and deep, as Beckett doesn’t let up with the force of his thrusts. He just knows he’s going to be feeling this for days. Beckett gives an exceptionally harsh thrust, driving into the younger man’s prostate and Harry lets out a scream. The sound of skin hitting skin joins the moans and the squelching of the lube that are emanating around the room as Beckett’s balls repeatedly slap against Harry’s arse. 

“Oh god—oh fuck,” Harry moans, tears threatening to spill over. “Harder, Daddy, please.” 

Beckett pushes into Harry harder, swiveling his hips and brushing his spot. Harry rakes his hands down the older man’s back, leaving a trail of scratch marks in his wake. His mind is beginning to get hazy again, the only thoughts running through his head being so good and Beckett. His entire body feels so sore, but so amazingly good as well.

“So good for me,” Beckett grunts out. Placing his hands on Harry’s waist, Beckett pulls nearly all the way out and slams back in repeatedly. “Wish you could see how gorgeous you look, taking my cock so nice and deep. Making your Daddy feel so fucking good,” he leans forward and catches the other boy’s lips in a kiss that’s more teeth than anything. 

On one particularly hard thrust, Harry’s back is arching off the bed completely. Nails digging even deeper into Beckett’s skin he gasps for breath and sobs, foggy green eyes shining as tears stream down his cheeks. The familiar feeling of a wave growing in his stomach begins, getting ready to crash over him. 

“Close,” Harry chokes out, squeezing his eyes tight. His cock is dribbling out precum onto his stomach, making a mess of himself. “Keep going, Daddy, please m’gonna come.”

Harry lets out another loud sob as Beckett continues to thrust harshly into him, the older man grasping his hips tightly, sure to leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. Beckett leans down, sucking at Harry’s neck and leaving a trail of dark red marks. Harry grasps the older man’s hair with one hand, the other hand digging into his back harshly as he continues to ravish his hole. 

“Yeah, gonna come for me, baby?” Beckett picks his head back up to speak. “Gonna make a mess of yourself for me?”

“Ngh, yes,” Harry whines, feeling the older man bring a hand to his chest to toy with his sensitive nipples. “So good, Daddy, make m’feel so good, fuck.”

“Let go, baby,” the older man whispers in his ear. “Come on my cock for me like the good little slut you are.”

With one more harsh thrust straight into his prostate, Harry screams as he’s coming untouched, a few drops of cum dribbling out of his cock and onto his stomach, painting it white. His body tenses, clenching down on Beckett’s cock that is still shallowly thrusting inside him until the older man lets out a groan, releasing into the condom. He shudders with the aftershocks of his third, and final, orgasm of the night and he whines as he feels Beckett slowly pull out of him and slowly remove his shaking legs from his shoulders, placing them back onto the mattress. Tears are still freely running down his face and he sniffles, feeling slightly overwhelmed. 

Harry watches with half-lidded eyes as Beckett takes the condom off and ties it, throwing it in the bin beside the bed. The older man leans down and presses a small kiss to Harry’s forehead before disappearing into the bathroom. He returns a few moments later, a wet flannel in his hand, and climbs back into bed with Harry. He quickly wipes the cum off of the younger lad’s chest and his dick, Harry squeezing his eyes shut as the flannel swipes over his spent cock, before moving down and giving a few swipes to his bum and thighs to wipe off the lube. Harry hisses as the flannel brushes against his thighs, still raw from the chaffing of Beckett’s beard. 

Beckett tosses the flannel into his hamper before sitting next to Harry on the bed and lightly caressing his cheek. “How you feeling, baby?”

“‘M so good,” Harry smiles up at the older man blearily. The older man smiles softly, ruffling the younger lad’s sweaty curls quickly before standing from the bed and making his way towards the door. 

“I’ll be right back, just gonna get you some water,” he says while shuffling out of the room and returning with a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap before sitting back on the bed. “Budge up a bit, H,” Beckett says, waiting for Harry to lean up against the pillows before tilting the bottle to his lips so he can drink, immediately downing half of the bottle in a few gulps. He didn’t realize how dehydrated he was until now.

Harry hums, already starting to not feel as hazy as before. The thrumming of his blood pulsing through his veins beginning to slow down with each gulp, the temperature of his body cooling considerably. He pulls back from the bottle to breathe quickly before going back to it, finishing the entire bottle. His mind fully clears by the time he takes the last drink of water and he watches with bright eyes as Beckett tosses the empty bottle in the bin. 

“Thanks, Beck,” Harry says appreciatively, giving the older man a smile and leaning his head on his shoulder. “Always take such good care of me.” 

“Of course, babe,” Beckett smiles, resting his head on top of Harry’s and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Did you like your reward?”

“Mmm, I loved it,” Harry slurs out, his eyes becoming heavy and shutting. 

Beckett takes notice of Harry’s sleepy state and quickly tosses the pillow that had been under him earlier, landing it on the floor with a soft thud. He grabs a hold of the younger man, pulling him down into a lying position and covers both of the bodies with the duvet. He brings the curly-headed lad closer to him before closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep, the soft snores tumbling out of Harry’s mouth helping lull him to a dreamless rest. 

+++

Groaning awake, Harry cracks one eye open and takes in his surroundings. Noticing a sleeping body next to his own he smiles, reminiscing the events of the night prior. Stretching his limbs as best he can without kicking Beckett, he quietly moans in temporary relief before scooting to the edge of the bed and throwing his legs over to place them on the carpeted floor. 

Feeling a slight twinge in his spine, he stands up slowly and feels his legs wobble slightly. Thinking nothing of it, Harry takes a single step forward before his knees buckle. “Oh fuck!” Harry yelps, feeling as if he’s falling in slow motion, yet unable to stop himself from the inevitable, and he immediately comes crashing down onto the floor. 

Startling awake, Beckett shoots up from the bed and whips his head towards the culprit of the noise. “Huh… wha’ happened?” he asks as he groggily wipes the sleep from his eyes. Not hearing a reply, he rolls towards Harry’s side of the bed and notices the younger boy in a crumpled mess of gangly limbs on the (thankfully) plush carpet. 

“H, what the fuck,” he wheezes out while barking out a laugh. “Are you okay? What even happened?” 

Harry rolls over onto his back and sprawls his limbs out like a starfish, staring at the ceiling in embarrassment. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbles, blushing furiously. “I don’t even know how I did that. I just stood up and my legs gave out.” 

Popping his head over the edge of the bed, Beckett takes another look at Harry’s sprawled out figure and bursts into a fit of giggles. “Fucked you that well, huh?” 

His cheeks reddening even more, Harry covers his face with his hands, the furious blush immediately warming them. “Shut up and help me, please.” 

“Hmm I don’t know… I think I might just let you struggle and walk around like Bambi for the rest of the morning,” Beckett smirks. 

“Beckett,” Harry whines out from the floor.

“Alright, alright. Hold on,” he says while rolling around and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up himself. Leaning forward, he reaches a hand out toward the younger boy and laughs when Harry pouts back up at his still smiling face. 

“I can’t move,” Harry declares, crossing his arms over his bare chest and glaring at the older man who is still occasionally letting giggle slip past his lips.

“Yes you can, just give me your hand,” Beckett lightly shakes the hand he’s holding out as an indication for Harry to grab on to it.

“No, this is it. This is the end of the road,” Harry boasts, closing his eyes and sprawling his arms out once again. 

“You’re such a drama queen, give me your hand,” Beckett rolls his eyes at the dramatics of the younger man on the floor. 

“Everything feels like jelly, I genuinely can’t move,” Harry informs the older man before cracking open an eye and looking at him. “Just leave me here to die, it’s okay.”

“Just take my hand, I’ll do the rest,” Beckett laughs again. Taking Harry’s hand into his own, he slowly pulls him up into a sitting position. “Okay, we’re gonna stand now, yeah?” 

“Beckett, I am telling you I cannot stand,” Harry blinks up at him, a deadpan look on his face. 

“Try anyway, I’ve got you,” Beckett assures the younger man. Harry stares up into his blue eyes, unsure as to whether he should trust the man or not. 

“Promise?” Harry asks, his wide eyes staring through to Beckett’s soul, making him look especially like Bambi now. 

“Promise,” Beckett looks at Harry intently, as if something else is being unsaid. “Now, come on.” He lightly tugs on the younger man’s hand as an attempt to get him to start moving. 

Harry groans as he slowly bends his legs, the limbs already beginning to shake from the small movement. Allowing Beckett to do most of the work to help him stand up, Harry allows himself to be manhandled, not seeing any other options thanks to his newly useless legs. 

“See? That wasn’t so bad was it?” Beckett smiles at his now standing form. 

“I guess not…” Harry mumbles before letting go of Beckett’s hands and taking a step forward, his legs buckling once more from the small step. Flailing his arms forward, he’s able to regain balance when Beckett’s hands find themselves on Harry’s hips. “You have got to be kidding me,” he grits out. “You are never fucking me again, I swear to god.” He glares at the older man.

“Jesus. That was… wow,” Beckett whistles, raising his brows and biting his lip to stifle another laugh. 

“I’m serious, you are never fucking me again,” Harry crosses his arms, digging up the nastiest glare he can muster and trying his best to keep balanced on his own two feet. He has never felt so sore in his life, not even after a draining football practice. Beckett gives him a look that just says ‘ sure ’ and rolls his eyes fondly. The look he receives at his dramatics makes him dissolve the act instantly, a small smile finding its way to his lips and a sheepish look in his eyes. “Can you give me a piggyback ride to the loo? I need to shower before you drop me off and I can’t go myself.”

“H, you can barely stand still, how the hell do you expect to take a shower?” Beckett asks him, bewildered.

“Well, I was gonna suggest for you to join me…” Harry blinks up at him innocently. “ But, if you don’t want to…” 

“That can be arranged,” Beckett smirks and turns around, getting on one knee to make it easier for the temporarily handicapped man to cling onto his back. “Hop on.” He pats his back as an invitation.

“No funny business!” Harry says as he clings to the older man’s back as best he can with his jello-like legs. 

“I would never do such a thing,” the older man scoffs jokingly, sticking his nose in the air and gripping the backs of Harry’s knees to keep him steady. “I am a gentleman, Frankly I’m offended you would think otherwise.” 

“Ah yes, how chivalrous of you,” Harry deadpans. “Won’t fuck me in the shower, but will fuck me to the point of immobilization when I have practice today, couldn’t ask for a more respectful lad.” 

“If I do recall correctly, I didn’t hear you complaining about it last night when I was fucking your brains out,” Beckett replies smugly. “In fact, you begged me to continue.”

“Oh, just shut up and take me to the shower,” Harry mumbles, pinching Beckett’s ear. He knows the older man is right, but he absolutely refuses to admit to it.

Adjusting him on his back, Beckett laughs as he walks them outside of the bedroom and into the hallway towards the bathroom. Once inside, Beckett grabs a towel from the rack and lays it out on the countertop before placing Harry’s naked form on top of it. He kisses his scrunched up nose before turning back toward the shower and turning the water on, waiting a few seconds then sticking his hand under the stream to check the temperature. 

Opening the glass door once more, Beckett carries Harry into the shower and places him down gently directly underneath the steady stream of warm water. Huffing out a deep breath, Harry feels his legs buckle once more, gripping onto Beckett’s arms like a lifeline and grumbles. Deciding this is just how his morning is going to go, he ignores the unsteadiness of his legs and tilts his head back, allowing the water to completely drench his hair. 

Hearing the snick of a cap, he smells the shampoo permeate through the thick steam of the shower, feeling Beckett lightly dig his fingernails into his scalp and wordlessly wash Harry’s hair. Once done, he tilts Harry’s head back to rinse the suds out before repeating the same actions of massaging his scalp and rinsing it out with the conditioner. Blinking his eyes open, Harry watches Beckett grab the body wash and squeeze it onto a loofah, running it over every inch of his sore body. The younger man hisses slightly as the loofah works over his inner thighs and bum, the effects of last night’s beard burn becoming even more prominent with the new friction coming from the loofah. 

As Beckett repeats the same routine he just did to Harry on his own body, Harry tries to keep his balance as his legs continue to buckle and watches as the suds swirl down the drain. Noticing the older man is done, Harry reaches behind himself and shuts the water off, taking his hand as he guides them out of the shower. Bending down to grab two new towels from underneath the sink, he hands one to Harry and they begin to dry themselves, exchanging small smiles with one another. 

Wrapping their towels around their own waists, the two men move back towards the sink, Harry leaning some of his weight on the older man before holding onto the counter of the sink to keep steady. He watches as Beckett lets go of him and rummages around in a drawer for a few moments before handing Harry an unopened toothbrush. Harry smiles in thanks and tears into the package as the older man reaches for his toothbrush sitting in a cup on the counter. Once he has his toothbrush opened, he throws the packaging in the nearby bin and reaches for the toothpaste. Unscrewing the tube, he squirts some on his own brush and Beckett’s, dipping it under the faucet before popping it into his mouth, rotating the bristles over his back teeth. They quickly finish brushing their teeth, taking turns spitting into the sink and rinsing their mouths before turning to look at each other.

“Do you think you’re good to walk now or do you still want me to carry you?” Beckett asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Mmm,” Harry takes a moment to think, slightly moving his legs to gauge their current mobility. “I think I can walk now, the hot water helped relax my muscles.”

“Good,” Beckett presses a light kiss to Harry’s forehead before making his way towards the bathroom door. The curly haired boy follows suit on wobbly legs, trying his best to keep his thighs from rubbing together, not wanting to feel the burn at the moment. He follows the older man into his bedroom, watching as he rummages through his dresser for clothes and smiles mischievously as he sneaks over to the closet, grabbing a simple red hoodie and sauntering out of the room to dig through his bag he had left in the living room the night before. 

Reaching his bag on the sofa, he sets the hoodie down beside it and begins to dig through to find his spare clothes. All of his footie gear is on top and he gradually throws it all on the sofa, trying to find the outfit he had packed. He practically dumps out the entire bag before he finds the joggers and shirt he knew he had left in there and he quickly slips them on as Beckett makes his way down the hall from his room, dressed in a similar outfit. 

Beckett claps his hands together and announces, “Alright, we need to hurry, I forgot I had a few patients scheduled before practice this morning.” 

“I thought you had team bonding today?” Harry furrows his eyebrows confusedly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Beckett nods, “but it’s not until later tonight to help the lads get to know each other and wind down before our first game tomorrow. Now, I’m gonna go clean up the mess you made on my kitchen counter last night while you sort,” he gives a pointed look towards the mess Harry had made on his sofa, “that out.”

“Yes, Dad,” Harry rolls his eyes with a fond smile as the older man turns and walks into the kitchen, out of his line of sight. 

He shakes his head as he begins picking up the footie gear he had thrown all over the sofa and shoving it back into his bag. After zipping up the bag, he pulls on the hoodie he had stolen from Beckett’s closet earlier before throwing the bag over his shoulder just as Beckett walks back into the room. 

“Ready to go?” the older man asks, placing his hands on his hips, looking very much like an actual dad at this moment.

“Yeah,” Harry nods, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as he makes his way towards the older man, walking unnaturally stiff on his still partially unsteady legs. 

“Let’s go then,” Beckett nods in affirmation, placing a hand on the small of Harry’s back and leading him towards the door. 

They slip on their shoes before walking out the door, heading straight to the car and getting in on their respective sides, Harry throwing his footie bag in the backseat once more. They buckle themselves in and Beckett shoots Harry a smile as he turns the key in the ignition, pulling out of his driveway and leaving his house. 

Chapter Text

Louis’ POV 

Louis pants, halting his running and folding at the middle while setting his hands above his knees to suck in more air as their coach finally announces practice is over. He vaguely registers their assistant-coach-slash-trainer Beckett yelling to remind the team about the ‘bonding’ taking place at his flat in a matter of hours, but he blocks it out in favor of chugging some water. Pulling the water bottle away from his mouth, he continues to gasp a bit for air but finally sets the bottle back down while he watches as the team makes their way to the locker room for showers before they leave. 

Glancing over at Beckett, he notices the older man lining up a few footballs on the penalty line. Louis takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to swallow the dull twinge of shame and embarrassment that he still feels in his gut every time he steps up to that line. He knows he’s fine, knows he can still kick a penalty with above-average accuracy, but after that devastating miss last season he absolutely refuses to take any chances of that happening once more. Much to the frustration of nearly everyone around him, and himself even moreso, he can’t get over his perceived failure of the season prior. He’s still shocked he even got into Manchester after that kick, honestly. But, well, here he is. Best to make the most of it—and work to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

“Tomlinson, are you going to get your arse over here and kick these damn balls or are we going home?” Beckett’s deep voice tears him from his spiraling thoughts. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, snapping his gaze to the older man, who is now looking at him expectantly with his hands on his hips. 

“Oi, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his body out against the nerves as he begins walking towards the other man, who is standing with his hip cocked impatiently. “I’m coming, old man.”

Beckett raises an eyebrow in his direction, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Do you want my help or not?”

“...Yes,” Louis sheepishly responds, standing beside the assistant coach. 

“Right,” The dark-haired man shoots Louis one last pointed look before beginning to explain. “So, I’m going to go act as goalie, just so there’s someone in the net as you take your shots. Once you’ve kicked all of them, we’ll discuss some pointers. Sound alright to you?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he nods at the older man’s words, a determined look spread across his face. 

He watches Beckett take his spot in the goal and lines himself up with the first ball, taking a few steps back from it. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, pushing the memories of his last penalty kick away. It’s not your life, he thinks. The thought still doesn’t help, despite his acceptance to Manchester. 

He opens his eyes once again, hardens his gaze on his target, and takes the few determined steps towards the ball and kicks. The kick is hard enough to send the ball flying into the air, fast, and Louis watches with his breath caught in his throat as it nears towards the left side of the goal. A faint swishing noise is heard as it catches in the back corner of the net. It bounces once, twice, and settles into the grass inside the goal. He smiles, glad to have not missed on the first try. Now for… about ten more, he thinks to himself, shoulders tensing once again. He takes another deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment.

He repeats this process with the remaining footballs Beckett had lined up. It’s not your life, he tries again before kicking the second ball. This shot goes only slightly left of the middle of the goal, not quite where Louis intended, and the older man catches it easily in nimble hands and tosses it out. It’s not your life, he repeats to himself, even more aggressively. The incessant thought won’t leave his mind. His third shot gets too high in the air and ends up hitting the crossbar, bouncing out of the goal and onto the ground. He takes another breath, bounces on his toes. His next shot flies right across the grass and easily past Beckett, and he blows out a deep breath. It’s not your life, he hears once more as he lines up. His final shot is his hardest yet and looks like it’s on target to the bottom left corner, but it smashes into the inside of the post and bounces out and across the front of the goal. He drops his head, burying his face in his hands, and lets out an annoyed groan. 

Beckett quickly gathers up the footballs and brings them back to where Louis stands, setting them on the ground by their feet. He fixes a long, hard stare at the younger lad before he speaks. “You’re too in your head, Tomlinson.”

“What?” Louis blanks.

“You’re thinking too much,” the dark-haired man clarifies. “I probably could’ve told you that just from how you were acting before we even started, but I wanted to see you in action. You’re trying too hard to calculate the perfect kick in your head to even put it in motion. You need to get your head out of the way of your body and live in the moment. Rely more on your instincts and your training, and less on your brain.” 

“Oh,” Louis goes quiet for a moment, letting this information process. 

“Would you like to try again?” Beckett quirks an eyebrow. Louis, still processing and trying to figure out how the bloody hell to get his brain out of the way of his foot, nods his head at the older man’s question and helps him space the footballs out once more. 

They continue on for an hour, goals interspersed with saves and shots off the posts and crossbar before they both decide to call it quits. By the end, Louis is ready to throw the towel in and give up on his football career. Clearly he’s not cut out for it if he can’t do a simple penalty kick, for fuck’s sake. He rolls his eyes as he helps Beckett collect the footballs, silently seething in anger. Beckett seems to want to give him space to handle his frustration, but once the balls have been collected, the older man quietly suggests that he goes for a quick shower before they climb into his car and head to his place for the team bonding he had insisted on, letting him know to meet him at his car once he’s done. 

“Take your time, Tommo. Meet me at my car once you’re done,” he tells Louis gently. Then, “you put in good work today, by the way,” he adds. Louis might think the words were just placating, only added as an afterthought, but he detects no less sincerity in them than anything else his coach has said to him today.

Louis nods at the suggestion and the praise, giving the older man a tight-lipped smile as he stalks towards the locker room. It’s quiet as he walks in, the rest of the team having left over an hour ago. He takes a deep breath to calm his anger as he rummages through his locker for his toiletries and his towel before making his way to the showers. He sets his stuff on the bench outside of the shower and steps in, turning the water on as hot as it could go, needing that extra heat to take his mind off of the shitty penalty kicks. 

He stands, letting the hot water hit against his body and relax his tight muscles from practice. It’s refreshing, he realizes, as he dunks his head under the water to get it wet before he washes it. He lathers his shampoo in his hands before rubbing it into his scalp and rinsing it in the steaming water. Grabbing his bar soap, he steps out of the stream of water and scrubs it over his body to quickly rid of the stench of sweat and sparse blades of grass that stuck to his skin (albeit in unnecessary places), rinsing it off once he has covered himself head to toe in soap. He stands in the shower for a minute after, letting it calm his wandering mind as the water beats against his chest before he reaches over and shuts it off. He shivers as he reaches for his towel, the air significantly colder than the scalding water of his shower. 

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he makes his way to his locker, where he digs out a clean pair of shorts and an old Doncaster Rovers shirt. Slipping on the clothes and his torn-up, old Vans, he haphazardly shoves his dirty practice clothes and his cleats in his duffel bag before zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. He sets his toiletries back in his locker, locking it and heading out of the locker room to the parking lot where he finds Beckett sitting in the driver's seat of his car waiting for him on his phone. Walking up to the passenger side, he knocks on the window and laughs as he watches the older man jump in surprise. He opens the door, still laughing, and slides into the seat next to Beckett. 

“Took you long enough, Tomlinson,” the older man rolls his eyes, reaching over to buckle his seatbelt and start the car. 

“Oi! I didn’t take that long, stop being dramatic. Plus, you’re the one that encouraged me to take my time,” Louis exclaims as he buckles his own seatbelt, putting a mocking emphasis on the last words.  Louis really does appreciate what Beckett is doing for him—he certainly had no motivation to stay for as long as he did, or to get pummeled by all of Louis’ shots, or give him endless advice with seemingly unending patience—but Louis isn’t a big feelings guy. This, though, a comfortable familiarity, a friendly back and forth ribbing each other, he can do.

He kicks his feet up onto the dashboard, earning a glare and a disgusted wrinkle of Beckett’s nose as he takes in the Vans that appear to have seen better days… years ago. Yeah, Louis thinks, Beckett’s an okay guy.

And it’s for this reason, maybe, that he declines to comment on the dirt definitely being left all over his dashboard. “I’ve been sitting here for, like, an hour,” Beckett says instead, over-exaggerating as he gives Louis a deadpan look before throwing his arm over the back of the passenger seat to look over his shoulder as he backs out of his parking space. 

“I was in the shower for less than half an hour, you prick,” Louis rolls his eyes, a small smile playing across his lips. 

“Sure, you were,” Beckett retorts. “Tell that to all the grey hair I got waiting for you.”

“Ah, yes, your head is just completely covered in silver locks now,” Louis scoffs. “A right silver fox you are already.” Beckett seems to choke on an inhale at that, a laugh bursting out of his throat. 

“I’m literally only twenty-three, mate, I think I’ve got a ways to go until then. But if I keep having to practice penalties with you and wait for you afterwards, you might be onto something,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

Louis chuckles for a moment, and then a beat of silence goes by before he starts to get antsy. “Could I put some music on?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Beckett answers, reaching over to open the center console, his eyes focused on the road. “But the radio’s currently broken, so all I have are these CDs.”

Louis hums in acknowledgment as he begins to sift through the CDs. The 1975, Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, Nirvana, AB — “Why do you have an ABBA CD?”

The older man’s cheeks tint red in embarrassment, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “It’s not mine.”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis scoffs, continuing to sift through the rest of the CDs. 

“I’m serious! My sister must have left it the last time I saw her,” Beckett continues to defend his choice in CDs.

Louis rolls his eyes, making a disbelieving noise. “Yeah, and I’m not on the football team,” he jokes, finally deciding on a Cage the Elephant CD that the older man had practically hidden in the center console. He cracks open the case and slides it into the correct slot, taking a moment to adjust the volume before relaxing back into his seat. The sounds of Cigarette Daydreams reverberate around the silent car. 

“Have you listened to their albums?”  

“Yeah, been listening to them for as long as I can remember,” Louis watches the scenery go by as they drive past. 

“Ever see them live?”

“Nah, could never afford that growing up,” Louis shrugs. “Have you?”

“Yeah, once when I was in uni,” Beckett lets a smile play across his lips at the memory. “Saved up all my earnings from my shitty campus job to buy nosebleeds, then snuck into the pit that night.” 

“Really?” Louis looks over at the other man, a surprised look on his face. Who knew he was capable of such things. “I find that incredibly hard to believe.”

“Yes, really!” Beckett chuckles. “It was their last show in Manchester for that tour and now I’m actually blacklisted from the venue, so…it really wasn’t a good idea.”

Louis barks out a laugh at that, a hand coming up to cover his mouth in an attempt to hide his laughter. “You’re actually banned from the O2?” 

“Yes, trust me I know. The concert itself was absolutely sick, but it sucks when there’s football games and I’m legally not allowed in.” 

“I bet that sucks, I can’t even imagine that.”

“It’s been brutal,” he agrees, shaking his head longingly.

Fifteen minutes go by as Louis hums along to the music playing softly through the speakers. The silence is comfortable between the two. Once pulling into Beckett’s driveway, the music cuts off as the older man removes his keys from the ignition. 

“Don’t forget your bag, I assume you’re getting a lift back to campus?” 

“Yeah, I’ll ask one of the lads when they get here,” Louis nods in agreement while unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching down to grab his footie bag before he opens his car door and hops out. He pulls his bag over his shoulder and follows the other man to the front door. 

Beckett unlocks the door and gestures for Louis to make his way in. Toeing off their shoes by the front door, Louis puts his bag by the arm of the sofa in the living room. 

“Nice place, Beckett. How long have you been here?” 

“Thanks, I’ve had it since my second year at uni. I actually went to Manchester myself.” 

“Wait, really?” Louis whips his head towards the other man fiddling with something in the kitchen. 

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I was on the footie team as well.” 

“I’d say I find that very hard to believe, but you’re not that bad I guess,” he smirks. “What the hell are you doing in there anyway?” Louis asks while making his way towards the absurd amount of noise Beckett is making. 

“Making sure I have enough plates and shit for you tossers, I figured you lot would want to order pizza or something.” 

“Wow, how thoughtful of you.” 

“What, you thought I’d starve you all?” Beckett says, turning his body towards Louis and quirking a brow. 

“I have no clue what you had in mind to be completely honest,” he replies while walking deeper into the kitchen, stopping to lean on the island. 

“You’re an idiot, Tomlinson,” the other man says as he rolls his eyes, turning back around to grab a stack of plates from the cabinet and placing them beside Louis. 

“Thanks, I get that a lot.” 

“I can imagine.” 

“Why’d you want us to do team bonding anyway?” Louis asks, genuinely curious as to what the other man is thinking and what his reasoning is behind this whole plan.

“You’re all too detached from one another. In order to be a proper team, you need to know one another inside and out,” he states while looking into the other boy’s eyes. “If you don’t build trust, then you’re just going to let not only your team down but yourself in the process.” 

Louis blinks at him, absorbing the words. Deep down he knows Beckett is right, but just the thought of getting closer to Aaron makes his skin crawl. On the other hand, he thinks about how those same words can apply to different circumstances; including a certain green-eyed boy from his past. 

Pushing those thoughts aside, he jolts up from the counter and makes his way back to the living room before he lets himself get too much into his own head. Tonight is about having fun, not dwelling over a failed relationship. 

A failed relationship that you caused, his brain snaps at him helpfully. Feeling his hands begin to shake, he shoves them in his pockets before Beckett is able to notice. 

Scrambling to find something to keep himself occupied, he hears the doorbell ring. Exhaling a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, Louis rushes to the front door. 

“Tommo, can you grab that if you don’t mind?” He hears Beckett call out, still rummaging through the kitchen. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Louis says back already on his way to the door. 

As if it couldn’t get any worse, once he opens it, he’s met face to face with Aaron. 

A smug smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “You’re already Beckett’s bitch it seems,” he taunts. “He’s got you opening the door and all, huh?” He continues, still smirking. 

“Fuck off,” Louis scoffs and lets go of the door, willing it to slam in Aaron’s face but unfortunately the other boy catches it before it can shut completely and he saunters in, more teammates who seem to have just shown up trailing in behind him. 

Sulking back to the sofa and rolling his eyes to himself about Aaron’s seemingly continuous lack of common decency or brain cells, Louis sits in the furthest corner of the couch, needing a minute to collect himself before everyone gets rowdy. Before he can get too into his own head, though, he’s startled by a tuft of ginger hair bouncing onto the sofa next to him. 

“Hey, Lou,” said ginger exclaims enthusiastically. 

“Jesus, Ed. What the fuck?” He startles, before punching the enthusiastic boy in the shoulder for his overly aggressive greeting.

“I needed to get your attention somehow,” Ed cackles next to him while shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

Louis cuts his eyes sideways, narrowed. “And trying to bounce me off of this sofa was the best solution?” He quips.

Ed just laughs again, smile easygoing as ever. “Of course,” he confirms, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “But seriously, you alright mate? You look a bit like you’re somewhere else.” 

“I’m fine,” Louis mutters. Nothing you’d want to hear anyway, he thinks to himself. “Guess ‘m just stuck in me own head. Anyway, what’s up? What’re we doing?”

“Oh, I think Beckett just brought out UNO. Fancy a game, Lou?” Ed smirks, a ginger brow quirked in question.

Now that, Louis can get behind. Something mindless and competitive is perfect to steer his mind away from the direction that it always seems to be headed in lately. “Absolutely,” Louis confirms, his cerulean eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’m going to kick each and every one of your arses.”

Aaron scoffs across the room, crossing his arms and relaxing further into his seat on the sofa opposite of Louis. Louis rolls his eyes and reaches for the pack of cards, opening them and giving them a quick shuffle before handing seven to each of his teammates. Looking at the hand he had drawn, he smirks and looks up at his teammates, placing down a matching yellow card on top of the one that was placed on the table from the draw pile. 

“Are we playing stacks?” Louis questions as the teammate to his right, Jackson, takes his turn. 

He sees a few confused looks. “What the fuck is that?,” another teammate Trevor finally asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Well, say I have three plus fours, I could put them all down at once and then Aaron’s dumb ass will have to pick up twelve cards,” Louis quickly explains as the game continues.

“Do that to me and I’ll beat the shit out of you,” Aaron gives Louis a quick death stare before placing down his card. 

“Oi! The point is for you all to be nice to each other!” Beckett calls from the kitchen, getting the drinks all sorted and making sure there’s enough for everyone. “Don’t make me have to have you lot over for another team bonding next week!”  

“As if you can wrangle up all of us again and drag us here,” Ed quips.

Beckett glares, making his way back into the room where the boys are playing. “I most definitely can and I wi—” his reprimand gets cut short by the doorbell. The boys chuckle as he startles slightly at the shrill noise.

Rounding the corner, he heads towards the front door to where the pizza delivery boy is struggling to hold five boxes. Eyes widening, Beckett shuffles forward and thanks him while grabbing the boxes out of his hands and kicking the door shut with his foot before heading back to the kitchen to set it all down on the counter. 

“Alright well. Pizza’s here in the kitchen if you want it!” 

“Perfect, I’m starving. That shit took forever to get here, and for what?” Ed says as he places a yellow reverse on top of Aaron’s yellow card and quickly slaps a blue reverse right after it. “Well would you look at that boys, it’s my turn again,” he chuckles before setting down a blue skip and sticking his cards in the pocket of his joggers before heading into the kitchen to grab a slice.

“Tosser,” Micah mutters as he gets skipped and everyone directs their attention to the next teammate who puts down a small stack of multicolored ones, the color now changing to green. 

“Alright, lets pause for a mo’. No peeking!” Trevor says, groaning as he gets up from his tight spot on the floor. The rest of the team follows suit and suddenly hands are fighting for the biggest slices in the multiple boxes, best crisps, and cups for their fizzy drinks. 

Everyone happily munches away, making themselves comfortable across the flat. Some boys are huddled around the boxes while others made their way back to the living room, setting up camp on the sofa. 

“I know you didn’t just use my cards as a coaster…” Steven says, looking Louis dead in the eyes. In response, the blue-eyed boy gives him an impish grin and continues nibbling on his crust. 

“Nobody told you to leave your cards there like that.” 

“Lou, there’s a whole entire table!” 

“Give it a rest.” 

Steven rolls his eyes and sits down next to Louis, making sure to land hard enough to have Louis’ plate jostle around in his lap. 

“I hate you, you know that?” Louis glares at the other boy. “What is with you all trying to bounce me off this damned sofa?” 

“If you weren’t so tiny, you’d be fine.” 

“I’m five-nine,” Louis grumbles.

“Sure you are, Tommo,” Steven laughs and shoves the other boy playfully, continuing to munch on his own slice. 

Once everyone’s satiated, they all get back in their makeshift circle to continue the game. The boys go around taking turns, no one having the balls to put down multiple plus fours yet; the closest they’ve gotten is Aaron having to pick up eight cards after several people in a row put down plus twos. 

“Fuck this game,” Aaron grumbles as he picks up eight new cards from the deck and continues to pick up more as he apparently doesn’t have a card to match the red seven that is placed neatly on top of the pile of cards. 

“Got enough cards there, mate? You practically have the entire deck at this point,” Louis says as he stifles his laughter. 

“Shut up. Who the hell shuffled this?”

“Don’t be a sore loser and put a damn card down already.” 

“I’d love to, but clearly someone doesn’t know how to shuffle a deck,” Aaron replies finally slapping down a yellow seven and struggles to rearrange his own mini deck in his hands.

“At this rate, we’re going to have to reshuffle now that you’ve cleared out the deck we just had. Jesus Christ,” Micah cackles as he reaches forward and grabs the pile, leaving Aaron’s recently placed card and shuffling the deck a few times before placing it back face down. 

“Just wait until it’s my turn again, Micah. Watch what happens.”

“I’ll bet ten quid you’re bluffing,” Beckett yells from the kitchen. “You definitely don’t have anything worthwhile in your hand right now.” 

“Next game we’re dealing you in then, old man.” 

Louis laughs and shifts further back in his seat as he awaits his next turn, cutting his laugh short when he feels a different fabric against his leg. Placing his cards face down on the coffee table, he reaches back and grabs the dri fit-like fabric, pulling it out towards him. He comes face to face with the back of a Leeds practice jersey. 

“What the…” Louis mumbles, confused as to why there’s another team’s jersey stuck in Beckett’s sofa. Their rival school no less. 

“What’cha got there, Tommo?” Ed questions, jutting his chin in Louis’ direction from across the table. 

“A practice jersey…” he says confusedly, turning the jersey over to its front in his hands and finding the school's name emblazoned in the corner. “A Leeds practice jersey… but why…?” Louis mutters slightly while running his thumb along the crest. 

“WHAT?” Steven exclaims in shock, grabbing the jersey out of his hands. “Why would Beckett have a Leeds jersey in his house?”

“Steven, why the fuck would I know? Shit was just rubbing all up on me leg mate, I just wanted to know what it was,” he scoffs. “And stop screaming or else he’s going to come in here.”

“I’m not screaming…” he says, marginally quieter. “That’s insane though, mate. Do you think he’s giving their team some pointers?”

“How thick can you possibly be, Steven?” Aaron chips in, the most disgusted look ever displayed on his face.

“How am I being thick?”

“Why the fuck would he be giving them point-”

“No matter, just give it ‘ere,” Trevor says, immediately cutting Aaron off as he snatches the jersey out of Steven’s grasp and begins to inspect it. The rest of the boys playing get up and form a small huddle around Trevor, trying to get their own look at the piece of fabric. 

“There’s no name, Trev. It’s blank,” Louis rolls his eyes. Looking back at the jersey, he finally notices the number plastered to the back, a white seventeen gleaming in the light. His eyes widen slightly and he freezes, mood already beginning to sour once more. 

Would it ever be possible to not think of a certain boy with curly hair when the most mundane things came up? It’s just a jersey for goodness sake. 

What was he doing now? Louis thinks. Is he still playing footie? Of course not, especially after what I did to him. If he was, what number would he choose? 

He quickly diverts his eyes before he can start overthinking the implications of that number and all of the memories that came with it. He can feel his eyes start to burn and throat begin to itch.

Deciding that this is the last place he wants to be right now, Louis slowly gets up, aiming to make his way towards the loo to get away from this mess and no doubt questions about his change in attitude. 

Can this night just be over already? he thinks, stepping over everyones legs and beelining out of the living room filled with the entire team murmuring their thoughts about the mysterious jersey. He’s almost to his destination, he just has to make a right and he’ll be safe and sound. Just a few more steps-

“Oof,” Beckett chuckles as he bumps into Louis’ slightly trembling body. “Everything alright?”

Unable to form words, Louis solemnly nods. 

“You sure?” Beckett sobers, “you’re looking a bit pale.”

“I’m fine, Beck. I just ate too fast, feeling a little sickly so I wanted to get some air.”

“If you say so, kid…” he trails off and moves to the side, letting Louis through to the end of the hall where the loo is. The younger boy nearly runs inside and shuts the door tight behind him, sinking directly to the floor and inhaling a few shuddery breaths. 

This is starting to get a little pathetic at this point, isn’t it? Get the fuck over yourself, this is nearly every single day that you fret over this boy, meanwhile it’s entirely your fault. Louis groans and lightly bangs his head against the door. 

You have no right to get upset when you’re the one who ended it. If you really wanted to see how he was doing or if you felt bad about what you’ve done, then you’d man the fuck up and get in touch with him. But no, instead you’re just a coward. 

Shutting his eyes tight, Louis wraps his arms around his knees holding himself and trying to hold in his sobs. The minutes tick by slowly as his sobs slowly turn to sniffles. Not wanting anyone to come look for him, he regretfully forces himself back up to his feet and leans onto the sink. Locking eyes with himself in the mirror, he sees how truly pathetic he looks; eyes rimmed red and puffy, tears streaked across his cheeks, and even his nose is dripping snot. 

Startling even himself, he quickly turns on the tap and lets the freezing cold water collect in his cupped hands before lightly tossing it onto his face to rid the remnants of his breakdown. Once he feels his face is sufficiently clean, he blows his nose and washes his hands quickly drying his hands and face. 

Taking one more look at himself in the mirror, face slightly less puffy but fairly obvious that he was in here crying. He scoffs quietly and shakes his head, turning back towards the door and unlocks it, stepping out and flicking the light off. Of course he isn’t alone, Beckett is waiting for him leaning on the opposite wall seemingly busy with something on his phone and looks up when he hears Louis exit. 

“What are you doing here?” Louis snaps, absentmindedly wiping his eyes hoping that they’re not noticeably puffy. 

“Are you asking me what I’m doing in my own house?” he breezily replies, quirking an eyebrow.

“You know what I meant,” he tries leaving the hallway, not wanting to be interrogated or near anyone at the moment. 

“I wanted to make sure you were alright,” Beckett says as he slips his phone back in his pocket and pushes himself off of the wall. “You seemed pretty put out before, do you wanna talk about it?” 

“Do I look alright to you?” Louis says exasperatedly. 

“Obviously not. But if you’d like to talk about it I’m right here if you need me,” he says earnestly, blue eyes boring into Louis’ own. 

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m fine and I’d honestly just rather not.” 

Beckett hums in response and the two make their way back towards the living room where to Louis’ surprise the hushed whispers have not let up. Breaking away from the older man, Louis returns to his still vacant spot and sits down. 

“Why have you lot gotten so quiet?” Beckett raises a suspicious brow at the team’s odd behavior. Immediately the whispers cease completely and in response, Trevor lifts the jersey into the air with his own questioning look. The older man’s face going blank as he sees the piece of fabric, eyes widening comically before schooling his features as quick as it came.

“Why have you got a Leeds practice jersey in yer flat, Beck?” Aaron sneers. 

“Are you sure that’s what that is? I was doing laundry earlier and one of my shirts must’ve gotten left out here. How do you even know it’s a Leeds jersey?” 

“How stupid do you think we are, Beck?” Ed pipes in. “That’s honestly such a shit excuse.” 

“Why am I being interrogated right now? Whether it’s mine or not, that’s none of your business.” 

“It might as well be our damn business considering they’re our rivals and we’re set to be playing them fairly soon.” 

“It’s mine, Jesus fucking Christ. You lot are getting so heated over a damn piece of fabric. Can we be done with this now?” 

“You’re so full of shit and you know it,” Trevor says.

“Don’t lie to us,” Aaron gripes and others noise their own agreements. “What is this doing here and why do you have it? Of all schools for this to be from, why is it this one? We all know you didn’t go to Leeds, so piss right off with that.” 

“Oi, fuck off, you lot! My boyfriend’s on the footie team at Leeds,” Beckett rolls his eyes, stalking over to Trevor and snatching the jersey out of his grasp. “Happy now? Always asking questions you don’t need to be and getting involved with shit that doesn’t concern you.” 

“You’re fucking the enemy? You’re sick for that,” Louis blanches, finally finding his voice. He locks eyes with Beckett and the shock on his face after hearing that Louis is the one who said that to him would be comical if not for these circumstances. 

“Like I said, it’s none of your fucking business who I’m with,” Beckett challenges. “Keep it up and I’ll have you lot doing suicides the entirety of next practice for interrogating me in my own home. Now, are you going to deal me in or not?” 

+++

Yawning and stretching slightly, Louis lifts his head from the arm of the sofa slightly confused by his surroundings; instead of the bare walls of his bedroom, he sees all of his teammates seemingly gathering all of their belongings and cleaning up the unfamiliar living room. He blinks rapidly to clear his bleary eyes, finally recognizing Beckett’s flat and pans around the room settling on Aaron’s awaiting figure. 

“Sleeping Beauty has finally risen from the dead,” he sneers. “Get your shit, we’re leaving in five.” 

Still half asleep Louis stretches him stiff limbs once more before he quickly gets up and pulls himself together, slightly nervous that Aaron might actually leave him. Picking up stray plates and napkins on his way out of the living room, he takes his small pile of trash to the kitchen where everyone else seems to be. 

“Thanks for forcing us to spend time together, Beck. It was surprisingly fun,” Ed says. Several other teammates murmur agreements and they all collectively make their way towards the front door. 

“Anytime,” Beckett smiles. “You lads needed to get more acquainted with each other, especially before the first game of the season. I might make this a regular thing.” 

“God no,” Aaron groans.

“You’re just upset because you fucking suck at quite literally every game we played tonight.” 

Louis chuckles at Aaron’s annoyance, remembering the look on his face when the other boy was forced to pick up twenty cards at once after a rally of plus fours was put down in quick succession. 

“Whatever,” he grumbles, heading for the door.

Guess that’s my cue, Louis thinks as he scrambles to get his bag from where he initially deposited it when he first arrived. 

“Thanks again, Beck! See you tomorrow!” Louis shouts as he hurriedly slings his gym bag over his shoulder and opens the front door, ready to walk out of his trainer’s house.

“Later, Tomlinson.” Beckett calls back right as the front door slams shut, signaling the last of the team has finally left for the night.

Louis heads out of the flat looking for Aaron’s car where he has already pulled out of his spot and is now slowly driving away. Glaring at his roommate, he decidedly walks slower down the stairs not wanting to give the other boy the satisfaction of watching him run to his car. The closer he gets, the more Aaron speeds up, forcing Louis to jog slightly to catch up. 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he scoffs to himself once he finally reaches the vehicle. Pulling on the handle he realizes that the door is still locked. “Unlock the door, prick.” 

Instead of answering, the other boy looks over and smirks and speeds up even more. Now gripping onto the handle, Louis runs with the car as Aaron continues to drive, having Louis look like a right prat. 

“Are you taking the piss?” He screams, smacking his free hand against the window. Hearing Aaron cackle through the window, the car finally stops and he hears the door unlock. He immediately yanks it open and hops in the passenger seat before Aaron has the chance to drive off again, setting his bag down by his feet and crossing his arms in extreme annoyance. Whose idea was it for him to ride with this asshole?  

“Comfortable?” Aaron smirks, looking over to the annoyed caramel-haired boy.

“Fuck off,” Louis rolls his eyes as he buckles up before shifting back to his original position.  

Snickering, Aaron puts the vehicle back in drive and continues down the road at a normal pace. The silence in the car is loud. 

“Jeez, someone can’t take a joke can they?” The dark-haired boy questions rhetorically, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh yes, I love it when I have to run next to the car that I quite literally have my hand on.” Louis responds sarcastically, shooting a quick glare over to the boy driving.

“It’s good exercise.” Aaron snickers once more as their banter continues. 

Louis turns his entire body to glare at the other boy, blue eyes blazing. “Are you fucking joking me?” 

“Wonderful cardio, if I do say so myself,” the dark-haired boy lifts his eyebrows once in amusement, a smirk still playing across his lips.

Louis turns back towards the window, glaring at the dark streets passing by in hopes that this car ride goes by quickly. Why does their flat have to be so far away?

“Aw, is the princess upset?” Aaron coos, pouting his lips dramatically as he adjusts his hands on the wheel.

“Don’t call me that,” Louis snaps, starting to get fed up with the brown-eyed idiot sitting next to him. 

“Okay, princess,” the dark-haired boy continues with his incessant teasing.

“Why the fuck did you even agree to give me a ride in the first place if you’re just going to be a dick?” Louis cracks, his voice raising a tad as his anger flares to its peak.

“We live together, idiot. Relax, it’s not that serious.” 

“I could’ve gotten a ride from someone else. We don’t like each other. It’s enough that we’re roommates, we don’t have to spend any more time around each other outside of that and footie.” 

“You really think I’m doing this voluntarily?” Aaron scoffs. “While you were passed out on the sofa, Beckett pulled me aside and basically demanded that I drive you home.” 

“How would he even know if you followed through with that or not?” 

“No clue, but I’d rather not go against it and have to run extra laps or some bullshit because of you.” 

“Can we just—stop talking. Turn on the radio or something.” 

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“So I’ve heard.” 

Closing his eyes, Louis rests his forehead on the cool window. He hears the other boy fiddling with the stereo before DONTTRUSTME starts blasting through the speakers. 

“Fitting,” he mumbles to himself. 

“What did you just say?” 

Refusing to answer, Louis tries to force himself to sleep but to no avail thanks to the bass thumping so loud. Minutes go by, the other boy humming along to each song as it comes on. Louis keeps his eyes closed, hoping that the ride moves by faster. 

“Why did you run off earlier?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” he curtly replies. Eyes unmoving from the road, “why did you run off earlier?”

“None of your business.”

“Well clearly it is if a jersey of all things freaked you out so bad that you decided to run off to the bathroom for ten minutes.” 

“Keeping tabs on me, are we?” 

“You wish. Stop deflecting.” 

“I’m not deflecting, it’s simply none of your business.” 

“Upset Beckett’s getting laid and you’re not?” 

That makes Louis snap his eyes open and turn back towards the other boy. “First of all, why are you interested in my sex life? Secondly, I don’t exactly see you having a herd of girls leave our flat so don’t even start.” 

That finally shuts Aaron up, his grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly. 

“Aw, princess, did I strike a nerve there?” 

Silence. 

“That’s what I thought,” Louis smirks and faces the window once more. Face breaking out into a full grin as they finally pull up to their flat, he grabs his bag from his lap and leaves the car (not without slamming the door shut in the process) without waiting for his roommate, heading inside happy that this day is finally over. 

Chapter Text

“So… you don’t agree that Reg is fit?” Aiden blurts out.

“Reg? Like our Reg?” Harry startles slightly, losing his footing on the pavement. 

“Yeah, he’s fit don’t you think?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Harry chuckles, “where did this even come from?” Shaking his head, Harry quickly slips his phone out of his pocket to send a quick text to Zayn letting him know they’re almost at his flat. “You do talk some shit, I swear.” 

“I do no such thing! It’s a valid question,” Aiden exclaims. “You’re really telling me you haven’t noticed?”

“Mate, unlike you I haven’t been gawking over the other lads on our footie team.”

“Riiiiight,” he drags out the word. “My apologies, I forgot that some of us are taken.”

Harry flushes, quickly trying to come up with a response and is relieved that Zayn’s response saves him time in doing so, his phone buzzing and his lock screen flashes ‘ sick i’ll b right down one sec’ and he hastily types out a reply, ‘hurry up and save me from aiden’s interrogation i beg of u’, locking his phone once more. 

“How many times must I tell you that I am not taken,” he groans. 

“I’ll believe you when you stop walking around looking like a vampire attacked you in the middle of the night and you stop pretending like you’re not limping around the flat.” 

“You’re such a pain in my ass, remind me why I continuously put up with your slander.”

“Because you love me and you know it,” the blonde grins. “Where the fuck is Zayn and why is he taking so damn long?” 

“Would you relax,” Harry shoves him lightly. “We’re not even there yet, you’re so impatient.” 

Dragging his feet on the sidewalk he kicks a stray pebble off the curb, breathing in the fresh air. It’s a different kind of fresh air when he’s not on the pitch sweating bullets, always nice to just be instead of panting and finding strands of grass in his hair from the seemingly endless amounts of laps he and the rest of the team always seem to have to run at practice. 

“Okay but seriously,” Aiden jumps into his line of vision. “Is he or is he not fit?”

“You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Of course not,” he winks and swiftly turns around to stand in front of Zayn’s flat, Harry trailing behind. 

Briefly shaking his hair out, Harry keeps his eyes on the ground and mumbles, “yes he’s fit.”

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Can you speak up, please?”

“Fuck off you wanker, I know you heard me.”

“Mmmmm, no, I don’t think so.”

“Oh come off it,” Harry rolls his eyes and walks up next to his roommate, bumping his shoulder when he does. “You gonna go for it then?”

“Absolutely not, I just wanted to hear you admit it,” the blonde smirks as he turns towards Harry with a cheeky grin wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Insufferable, I swear,” he rolls his eyes so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if they got stuck like that. 

Both boys look up at the noise coming from the door in front of them as Zayn shuffles out of the door fiddling with his keys trying to find the correct one to lock it properly, not before struggling to do so. 

“Come on, mate, you can do it,” Aiden says with a teasing smile as Zayn continues to struggle with the keyhole. 

Finally successful Zayn groans exasperatedly, turning to face the two idiots on the sidewalk. “We will not speak of that pathetic excuse of me locking my door, are we understood?” 

“Never,” Aiden giggles lightly as he skips over to Zayn and wraps him in a tight hug, “you’re so gifted, Zaynie, oh how I wish I could be like you,” smacking a kiss on his cheek. The other boy simply scoffed and walked forward, ignoring him and instead heading straight towards Harry instead, sticking his tongue out at the blonde in passing. 

“Hey, H,” Zayn smirks as he links his arm through the other boy’s. “How have you been?” Deliberately ignoring the blonde as they nearly skip down the block arm in arm. 

“Oh you know, absolutely splendid.” 

“Wonderful, just wonderful. Now where are we off to?”

“We are headed to karaoke,” Harry stops as he hears Aiden clear his throat behind him. 

“Fantastic,” Zayn grins and barely spares the blonde a glance.

“Z,” Aiden mumbles. 

“Do you hear something?”

That makes Harry stop, unsure of how far Zayn wants to tease his roommate. All for fun and games but unwilling to make his own living situation uncomfortable. 

“Are you taking the piss?” Aiden all but pouts, crossing his arms and directing his full attention towards the raven haired boy. 

“Not very pleasant when someone’s being a right tit to you, now is it?” Zayn snaps back. 

Harry bites his lip and shoves his hands into his pockets, wanting absolutely nothing to do with this conversation, instead directing his full undivided attention to the cracks in the sidewalk. 

“I was only teasing! Z, I’m sorry,” his pout deepens as he moves closer. 

“I know, idiot,” the raven haired boy breaks into a giant grin. “I just wanted to see how worked up you’d get, totally worth it by the way,” he winks. 

“Why do I feel as if I’m interrupting something?” Harry blurts out and the other two jump as if momentarily forgetting that their friend was there with them. “I did not sign up to third-wheel tonight.”

“Shut up and let’s go before all the good booths get taken,” Zayn says as he yanks both of their sleeves and makes a beeline down the block in the direction of the karaoke bar. 

Shaking his head in disbelief, Harry lets himself get dragged, wondering if what he just witnessed was playful banter or an uncomfortable bout of flirting he never wants to get in the middle of ever again. Turning his head towards Aiden, he raises a brow. 

‘Not a fucking word,’ the blonde narrows his eyes and mouths, trying and failing to hide his blush. 

+++

The bar is bustling when the trio arrives, thankfully for them they don’t have an issue finding a table. Once getting settled into the booth, Harry finally takes a look at the stage and the person performing. 

“They’re really good,” he says, leaning towards Aiden. 

“Eh, not too bad for once.”

“Don’t be mean,” he pouts. “Do you guys want a drink?”

“Yes please, just a pint,” Aiden says, fluttering his eyelashes. 

“Same for me, H, thanks.”

“‘Kay be right back lads,” he says while shimmying back out of the booth. Instead of heading directly to the bar, he takes a small detour to the table for sign ups discreetly and writes down their names. Quickly shuffling towards the bar ensuring he isn’t seen by his mates, he squeezes into the first semi free space he can find, waiting for his turn to order. 

Picking at his yellow nail polish lightly, Harry doesn’t notice the man next to him swiftly squeeze in to his right. Instead, he perks up when the bartender, Chris, notices him. 

“Hey, H! Haven’t seen you in a while, how’ve you been?” 

“Good, good. And yourself?”

“Can’t complain,” he smiles. “You lads want the regular?”

“Actually, can I get two pints and for the third just surprise me. I’m in the mood for something different tonight.”

“For sure, coming right up!”

Harry smiles and goes back to picking at his fingernails, jumping slightly when he hears a throat clear next to him. 

“How long have you known Chris?” The stranger asks, turning his body slightly. 

“Oh, hi,” Harry blushes. “Didn’t even see you there. But honestly, I’m not sure I sorta just moved here a few months ago. So… I guess for a few months—” the green eyed boy widens his eyes. “God, sorry I’m rambling.”

“No worries,” the man replies. “It’s cute. I’m Reece,” he says grinning crookedly and offering his hand.

“Harry,” he says, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.” 

“I pop in once in a blue moon, my friends and I usually go to the other bar down the street but Chris is a childhood friend so we always like to stop by especially during karaoke nights.”

“That’s nice, so are you going to perform at all?”

“God no,” Reece chuckles. “I can’t hold a tune for shit. I’d much rather not embarrass myself in front of cute boys if I can help it.”

Now that has Harry blushing even harder than before. Not at all used to all the attention he’s been getting lately, he doesn’t even know what to say. Opening and closing his mouth to formulate a response, he’s once again saved by the bell as Chris returns with their drinks. 

“I’m assuming you lads are keeping your tab open?”

“I- yes, thanks Chris,” he immediately directs his attention towards his friend. Looking at the mystery drink, he sees what appears to be grey glitter swirling around the glass, making it look like swirls of clouds moving nonstop. “What do we have here?”

“Oh that?” Chris smirks, flicking his eyes first towards Harry and then at Reece, “that my boy, is a Disco Tits.”

“Fantastic,” Harry inwardly groans. Could he possibly embarrass himself any worse in front of this boy? “Cheers lads,” he says as he grabs the drinks and nearly sprints back to his booth in record time, slamming them all on the table before hopping back into the booth himself. 

“Fuck, H, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Zayn jumps. 

“Yeah, and what took you so long anyway?” Aiden adds. 

“Nothing,” he mumbles and pushes the pints to his friends respectively. “There was this guy at the bar talking to me and Chris kinda embarrassed me but—”

“You were chatting someone up?!” Aiden cuts him off. 

“No,” Harry sternly replies, not wanting to get into this again. “He came up to me and I got flustered and then ran off.”

“That is most definitely not the whole story, but I’ll allow it,” Zayn chides, rubbing Harry’s arm. 

Ignoring the other two, Aiden immediately raises half of his body out of the booth in search of the mystery flirter Harry was referring to. Finding him, his eyebrows raise and he lowers himself down whistling lowly. 

“Phew, H, he’s a fucking catch if I do say so myself,” Aiden says fanning himself. 

“Oh do shut up,” Zayn glares and that shuts Aiden right up. “Anyway, what the hell is that you’re drinking?”

“Apparently it’s called Disco Tits,” Harry says. “No clue what it is though, haven’t tried it, sure is pretty though.” 

“Drink up then!”

Shrugging, Harry takes a sip and hums at the taste of bubblegum and passionfruit bursting on his tongue, the hint of lemon at the end really tieing the drink together. Spinning his straw in the glass, he makes the edible glitter swirl around even more, momentarily mesmerized.  “It’s yummy, totally worth the absolute shit name.” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t find the name hysterical,” Aiden playfully nudges the other boy. 

“Fine, you’re right,” he smiles and happily sips his drink. The conversation dies down, but the silence isn’t awkward as the three boys sit back and watch all of the performances; some much better than others but Harry isn’t one to judge. 

They’re about three rounds of drinks in when the MC suddenly announces, “next up we have Harry, Aiden, and Zayn singing… Livin’ On A Prayer!”

Now that wakes Harry right up out of his daydreaming, forgetting he even signed them up in the first place. Why on earth did it take so long for it to be their turn anyway? 

“Harold what the fuck?” Zayn hisses. “I needed at least three more pints before you pulled this shit.”

“I thought it would be fun!” Harry looks at him and sheepishly smiles. 

Not even bothering to argue, Aiden simply shrugs and stands up and nods his head towards the stage. “Well lads? Let’s fucking show them what we got,” he says smirking. 

Zayn lets out a strangled groan and downs his drink (and the remainder of Aiden’s) before getting up to join the blonde. Harry is the last one to stand, swaying slightly from the amount of drinks he consumed in such a short period of time but absolutely ready to take the stage, quickly sauntering up the steps and grabbing a microphone from the table on the way. 

The three boys teeter slightly on the stage, all standing awkwardly not knowing whether they should introduce themselves or not. 

There’s no need to right? It’s only karaoke after all. Harry thinks. Before he can embarrass himself and his friends any further by doing such a thing, the music starts up. 

Turning quickly to his friends he whispers, not before covering the microphone with his hand “who is going to sing lead vocals?”

“You are, dickhead,” Zayn whispers back. “You got us into this mess, so you’re going to take the brunt of it.” 

“Fine by me, but don’t act like you don’t love this song,” he winks before turning back towards the crowd. 

Harry bounces slightly, getting into the feel of the music as the finger cymbals start sounding, moving his hips in time with the beat. Turning back towards his friends and nodding in support that they’ve all got this, thankfully they nod back before they both lift their own microphones and bop along as the song officially starts. 

Harry closes his eyes and lets the song overtake him, lifting his microphone to his lips. 

Tommy used to work on the docks, union’s been on strike

He’s down on his luck, it’s tough, so tough

Gina works the diner all day, working for her man

She brings home home her pay, for love, mmm, for love

He swiftly turns around, and points to the two boys behind him and they all start harmonizing in perfect sync. 

She says, “We’ve gotta hold on to what we’ve got

It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not

We’ve got each other and that’s a lot for love

We’ll give it a shot”

The three of them giddily beam at each other and Aiden steps closer to center stage, closing his eyes and bending his knees slightly as he leans back and raises his microphone really getting into the song, taking the lead on the chorus. Harry and Zayn joined him easily. 

Whoa, we’re halfway there

Whoa oh, livin’ on a prayer

Take my hand, we’ll make it, I swear

Whoa oh, livin’ on a prayer

Harry takes a look at Zayn and nods his head towards the front of the stage, urging him to take lead on the next verse. The other boy bites his lip before nodding and shuffles forward and belting it out. All three of them are having the time of their lives jumping around the stage as if they’ve done this before (to be fair, they have, just slightly more inebriated and with much less people in the crowd but that’s besides the point). 

The crowd goes absolutely ballistic, everyone watching immediately getting up and singing along themselves, chanting the chorus right back at them. The feeling is electric, Harry can’t get enough. 

Honestly, if footie doesn’t go anywhere maybe you should get into music, Harry thinks to himself. 

Immediately after the third chorus all three boys fall to their knees playing the air guitar. Shutting their eyes and shaking their heads all around. Instead of staying on the stage for the final bridge, Harry jumps into the crowd for the few short lines pointing at the people around him and singing directly at them. He bops around the crowd and lands in front of Reece, winking at him while singing the last line of the bridge. When the chorus starts back up he jumps back on stage with the boys so they can close it out with full energy. 

When the song fades out, the crowd goes wild cheering them on. Harry wraps his arms around his friends, laughing like a maniac as they take a bow, flying high on adrenaline. 

“I hope you all enjoyed that as much as we did!” He shouts into the microphone before they all shuffle off of the stage back to their booth. 

Even Zayn is giddy as he slides back into the booth, “okay I will admit that was fucking mental.”

“I told you it would be fun!”

“Did you guys see the crowd? Holy shit,” Aiden leans back to catch his breath. 

“They were insane, I loved it. You guys did great,” Harry grins at them. “Should I get another round?”

“Absolutely,” Zayn replies. 

As Harry moves to shimmy back out of the booth, he stops as he sees Reece standing at their table. 

“Oh, hi,” he smiles shyly. 

“Hey,” the other man smiles back. “You guys did great,” he says, eyes directly on Harry. 

“Th-thanks.”

“You know what? Z and I were just about to grab us another round, we’ll be right back,” Aiden says as he subtly winks at Harry and nudges the raven haired boy out of the booth, leaving Harry and Reece alone at the table to not further embarrass the boy. 

Harry’s eyes widen as he realizes what his shithead of a roommate has just done, losing both of his buffers. Whipping his head back to Reece, he smiles but it must look more like a grimace taking in the other man's reaction to his face. 

“Fucking hell, sorry I’m just completely mucking this up, arent I?” Harry says, putting his head in his hands. 

Chucking lightly, Reece steps forward and lightly moves Harry’s hands from his face. “Honestly no, it’s cute, like I said earlier,” he smiles at the green eyed boy. 

Blushing furiously, as that seems to be the only thing Harry is capable of doing in front of handsome men, he simply blinks up at him. “Would you like to join us? Or are you just going to stand there and flirt with me all night?” 

“Ah, I see someone is finally catching the hint,” he smirks. 

“For once, yes,” he smiles back. 

“Unfortunately I have to head out soon, but I wouldn’t mind seeing you again. Can I get your number?” 

“Very forward,” Harry says. “But… yes,” he surprises himself with his response as he pulls out his phone and hands it to the other man. 

“Great, I’ll be sure to text you,” he replies, handing his own phone over. “You did amazing by the way, honest.” 

“Thanks again,” he smiles as he taps his number into Reece’s phone and hands it back. “Hopefully I’ll see you around here again.”

“Definitely, see you later, cutie,” he says waving, pocketing his phone and heading back towards his own friends while Zayn and Aiden make their way back to the booth. 

Instead of gushing over the cute boy that decided to talk to him, Harry’s eyes widened wondering where the hell that came from. Feeling slightly guilty because of what he has going on with Beckett, but knowing they’re not exclusive so it’s not that big of a deal. 

“H… you good?” Zayn says, nudging his shoulder as he slides back into the booth next to his friend. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, staring off into space as he contemplates his life at the moment. “Am I a whore?” The curly haired boy questions, giving his best mate the most confused look ever.

“What?” Zayn laughs, eyebrows crinkling together, wondering where that question came from. 

“I mean, I’m fucking Beckett and I just gave that guy my number… Does that not make me a whore?” Harry rushes out in some sort of panic.

“Are you dating Beckett?”

“Well, no… but—”

“But nothing,” Aiden cuts him off. “You’re single, you’re free to do as you please. Don’t overthink this, you’re having a good time as you should.”

“Exactly, as you said you’re just fucking him, you’re not with him with him. It’s fine,” Zayn chimes in. “Fucking more than one person doesn’t make you a whore.”

“Okay… yeah I guess you guys are right,” Harry mumbles, bringing his pointer finger and thumb to his lip and pulling lightly. 

“Hey, stop that,” Zayn lightly pulls his hand away from his mouth. “We’re having a good time, yeah?”

“Yeah, yes.”

“Alright then,” Zayn nods. 

“Anyway, did you guys see that one girl drooling over Harry when he came up to her table during the bridge?” Aiden changes the subject.

“What?” Harry squawks. 

“Oh my God, yes. It was absolutely hysterical. I swear, H, if you got any closer to her she would’ve fainted,” Zayn bursts into giggles. 

Harry just shakes his head and smiles, sliding his drink closer to himself, yet another Disco Tits. Taking a long sip, he hums at the taste. It is delicious after all. 

This is definitely going to be my new go-to drink, Harry thinks to himself. 

“So…” Harry says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, lips sparkling slightly with glitter. “What song should we sing next?” 

+++

“That was fucking wicked,” Aiden chortles as the trio stumble out of the bar, all taking in big gulps of the crisp night air. 

“Honestly, yeah,” Zayn agrees. “I’d be down to do it again.”

“Really Z?” Harry asks, completely shocked at the brazenness of his best friend. 

“Absolutely! It was so freeing,” he says as he closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sky. “I myself am shocked I enjoyed it as much as I did. Kinda glad you forced me up there to be quite honest.” 

“Wow, a changed man,” the green eyed boy says sarcastically. 

“How you convinced him to sing four songs, I’ll never know. I genuinely applaud you,” Aiden quips. “I want to be like you one day when I grow up.”

Harry skips ahead before doing a poor attempt at a pirouette and turning back around to face his friends. “Don’t be jealous.” 

“I for one am no such thing,” Aiden sniffs. “However…”

Immediately hearing the tone Aiden is using, Zayn’s eyes immediately shoot open and he locks his eyes with the blonde boy. “Don’t you dare.”

“Don’t I dare what, my dear Zaynie?”

“You know what,” he narrows his eyes. 

“Aiden… Don’t,” Harry says slowly, unfortunately knowing what’s about to come. 

The next thing the boys know, Aiden is sprinting down the block. Groaning exasperatedly, they start chasing after him. Unlike Harry, Zayn isn’t a runner and only makes it two blocks before he has to stop and catch his breath. 

“Fuc—fucking smokers lun—lungs,” he gasps out, leaning forward with his hands on his knees. “Catch him, H!”

“On it!” Harry says, barely turning his head back to see where he left Zayn coughing before starting to lightly jog to catch up with them. 

Fuck, he runs fast. How is he doing this drunk? He thinks to himself as he harshly exhales through his nose, picking up his pace. 

“Aiden! Stop!” Harry yells out and instead of a response he hears manic laughter and sees the blonde somehow speed up. “Jesus fucking Christ, there is absolutely no way,” he mutters to himself as he continues his chase. 

He finally catches up and nearly stumbles into the other boy, Zayn thankfully not too far behind. “No more,” he sternly says, eyes narrowing as he points at the blonde and nearly touches his nose with his finger. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he winks and goes to playfully nip at Harry’s finger. To Zayn’s relief the two start walking again at a normal pace when he finally catches up to them, huffing and beginning to sweat. 

“I—hate—you—,” he gasps out. 

Turning his body towards Zayn, he takes in his slightly heaving form for only half a second before he bolts off again into the night. 

“God fucking dammit!” Harry all but moans in pain as he starts his chase once more. 

“Fuck this, I’m not running again,” Zayn says to himself as he watches his two friends run down block after block. 

“If you don’t cut the shit I will quite literally tackle you to the ground, Aiden!” Harry all but screams at his roommate, he once again receives a distant cackle in response. 

I hate it here, he thinks as he continues running after his friend, quickly running out of energy. 

The next thing he sees is the blonde darting into the street, thankfully no cars in sight as he begins doing cartwheels in the middle of the road. Harry calmly walks closer to him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself and simply watches Aiden’s ridiculous antics. 

“Did you see that, H! Look at this!” Aiden laughs as he makes yet another pathetic excuse for a cartwheel. “Are you looking?”

“Yeah Aiden, I’m looking,” he shakes his head fondly all the while trying to catch his own breath hoping that he doesn’t run off again. 

“Look! Look at this!” 

There is absolutely no way this kid is real. 

“Look it!”

“I’m looking,” Harry bursts into laughter as Aiden barely gets himself off the ground and nearly does a somersault on the concrete instead. 

Zayn finally walks up smoking a cigarette, “please tell me this isn’t actually happening.”

“Oh, it’s happening alright.”

“He needs one of those fucking leashes parents put on their children,” Zayn says. “You know, the ones with the animals and it’s like a backpack?” 

“Not a leash,” Harry giggles. 

“I’m not even kidding.” The raven-haired man deadpans. “I’ll order one on Amazon right now.”

“Believe me, I know you’re not,” he says as he continues to watch Aiden do cartwheels. 

“You’re not looking,” the blonde turns to them and pouts. Directing his attention towards Zayn, he shouts, “Zaynie look! Look at me!” 

Zayn amusedly watches as Aiden does a cartwheel. “I’m definitely looking,” he shakes his head and tilts his head slightly towards Harry. “You think he’d like a unicorn one? I wonder if that exists.”

“It’s crazy because he’d definitely wear it with pride as well,” Harry replies. 

“I’m gonna look them up,” he says absentmindedly and pulls out his phone to check Amazon for child backpack leashes. 

“I’m hungry,” Aiden suddenly says. 

“Let’s go get food then,” Harry replies breezily. 

“Okay,” he says while standing up and grabbing Harry’s hand finally satiated. 

“Oh my God, H, they actually have them,” Zayn blurts and shows Harry his phone with a picture of a white unicorn backpack leash with a pink strap. 

“That’s actually perfect.”

“I’m buying it, and we’re bringing it the next time we go out because this,” he gestures wildly around them. “Is not fucking happening again.”

“You’re fully expecting him to wear a unicorn backpack leash throughout the entire night?” 

Zayn simply looks at Harry as if he’s an idiot and raises his brow and looks at Aiden. “Absolutely, it’s Aiden. Of course he’ll do it, he has no shame.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Aiden sleepily asks, rubbing his eye with the hand he still has grasped in Harry’s. “Can we please get food now?”

“Yes, we can get food now let’s go,” Harry replies as the trio (thankfully) walk out of the street and in the direction of the first fast food place they see in the direction of their flats. 

“Pizza!” Aiden exclaims as they walk up to the one pound slice shop. “Oooh, can we please get cheesy breadsticks,” he asks and makes the biggest doe eyes Harry has ever seen.

“Sure, whatever you want.” 

Zayn takes charge of ordering, not before reaching into Aiden’s pocket for his wallet and pulling out a few notes. Harry simply looks at him in disbelief. 

“What? You really thought I wasn’t going to make him pay for the food after the shit he just pulled?”

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Precisely,” he sniffs and turns back around to the counter to hand the worker the money. Turning back around, he laughs as he takes in the state of Aiden. “He is definitely not gonna eat this.” 

“What makes you say that?”

Instead of responding, Zayn juts his chin in Aiden’s direction and Harry looks to his left, not even realizing that the blonde rested his head on his shoulder with his eyes closed. “There is no way he passed out, he’s standing!” 

“I’m not even surprised at this point,” Zayn laughs and turns back around to grab their pie. 

“Me either,” Harry says fondly. “It’s kind of cute if you think about it, he’s like a baby.” 

“Ah yes, a full grown man-baby,” he says as he walks up towards them and starts poking Aiden awake. “Hey, Aiden,” he continues poking him until the blonde scrunches up his nose and blinks sleepily at them. “We have pizza, let’s go home, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he mumbles and closes his eyes again. 

“Oop,” Harry says and shakes him awake. “No more sleeping, we have to go home, bud.” 

“But I’m tired,” he pouts. 

“It’s not that far, come on. You want a piggy back ride?” Instead of answering, he nods. “Okay, hop on so we can go,” Harry says and bends down as Aiden climbs onto his back. Once he deems Aiden on his back properly he starts walking with Zayn trailing behind. 

“Okay, I guess it is kind of cute,” Zayn whispers to Harry. 

“Told you,” Harry smirks. “Now let’s hurry up because he’s like dead weight and he is not light either, my back is going to kill me tomorrow.” 

“For sure, I’m fucking starved,” he says and they make their way back to Zayn’s flat as fast as possible. 

Thankfully it’s not that far of a walk from the pizza shop and they make it back within ten minutes. Scratch that, make that fifteen because Zayn struggles to get his key into the lock before they all go stumbling into the flat. 

Lightly dropping Aiden onto the sofa, Harry situates him properly and throws a blanket onto his sleeping form and takes off his sneakers. Once he deems Aiden safe, Harry makes his way into the kitchen to join Zayn and the open pizza box that is already a third of the way gone. 

“Z, what the fuck,” he laughs quietly. 

“Shut up, I was hungry,” Zayn mumbles around his slice. 

“Clearly. I was gone not even three minutes how the hell—you know what, forget it. No judgment,” he says, raising his hands in surrender and goes to grab his own slice from the box.

Harry hums around his slice, quietly munching away as Zayn starts to clean up around him. “Hey, do you mind shutting the lights and putting that away when you’re done?”

“Mmfph, no pwobwem.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You wuv me,” he says in between bites, smiling.

Shaking his head, Zayn makes his way towards his bedroom. Harry quickly finishes up, wanting to go straight to bed. Putting the box in the fridge, he grabs three water bottles and chugs half of one and drops another on the coffee table in front of the sofa Aiden is currently passed out on. Making his way towards the loo, he goes into the medicine cabinet and takes out two paracetamol and places them next to the water bottle for Aiden, knowing he’ll be grateful when he wakes up. 

Turning off the rest of the lights on his way to Zayn’s room, he tiptoes into the bedroom and quietly strips into his pants before sliding into the bed next to Zayn’s already sleeping form and falls asleep before his head even hits the pillow. 

+++

Harry wakes up to the sun peeking through the large gap in Zayn’s blackout curtains that never got shut the night before. Some blackout curtains those are, huh? Harry thinks to himself as he inwardly groans. Stretching his arms over his head, he points his toes and rolls over facing away from Zayn to crack his back and does the same to the other side, being mindful to not wake his best mate before shimmying out of the bed. 

He tiptoes out of the bedroom and shuts the door quietly behind him. Once in the hallway, he makes his way towards the loo, his pink socks sliding on the hardwood. Before he turns the knob on the door, he hears a weak cough coming from inside, well I guess Aiden’s up then. 

“You alright in there?” Harry says, lightly knocking on the door before pushing it open slowly. Scratching his exposed hip bone, he directs his line of vision to the crumpled form of his roommate hugging onto the toilet for dear life. “Want me to get you a glass of water?”

Instead of answering, Aiden hugs the bowl even tighter like a lifeline. “I don’t even think I’d be able to stomach it if I’m being completely honest,” he groans out with his eyes shut tight. 

“I’ll get you some anyway,” he chuckles and makes his way back into the hallway and heads to the kitchen to quickly fill up a glass from the tap. On his way back, he hears a flush and another weak groan. 

Door still wide open the way he left it, he walks over to Aiden and squats down next to him and hands the blonde the glass of water, “drink, you’ll feel better.” 

He glares up at Harry after popping one of his eyes open from his curled up spot on the floor, which would be much more intimidating if the other boy didn’t have a speck of vomit on his cheek. “Thanks mate, cheers,” he mutters lightly with a rumpled frown, slightly resembling a kitten. Unsurprisingly, he chugs more than half of the glass before weakly handing it back to the curly haired boy who takes it not particularly wanting to have Zayn yell at them for breaking one of his glasses (again). 

“Now let’s clean you up because this is just pitiful,” he says affectionately rubbing Aiden’s back. “C’mon up you get.” 

“If you move me, I will throw up on you.”

“Mmmmm, yeah I’d prefer you not,” Harry stops himself from lightly tugging Aiden off of the floor. 

“It’s simply the truth,” he exhales. “The tile feels so nice.” 

“You know what would feel even nicer? A shower.”

“Fuck off,” Aiden retorts. Laying there for a few more minutes with his eyes shut, breaths coming out shallow, he slowly lifts himself up and leans on the wall while Harry turns on the water. 

Deeming the water decent enough for the blonde to get in, Harry reaches back down to help his roommate back to his feet. “C’mon mate, you can do this,” he says grunting. 

“Yeah, yeah. Alright I’ll be out in a bit,” he pouts again while yanking his shirt off. 

“Don’t fall asleep in there.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’ll never let you forget it!” Harry laughs, clicking the bathroom door shut and heading back into the kitchen once more to see what he can conjure up for breakfast from the sparse amount of things in Zayn’s refrigerator. 

A few minutes later, he hears footsteps making their way towards the living room and a shirtless Aiden toweling dry his sopping wet hair. 

“I take it you didn’t notice the paracetamol I left you on the table there.”

“It was kind of hard to notice much of anything besides making sure I didn’t yack on Zed’s rug the second I woke up.” 

“Fair,” Harry chuckles and hands the other boy the medicine and water bottle. 

“You’re amazing, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Eh, once or twice,” he smiles bashfully and sits down on the sofa. 

“Wanker—”

“Who’s a wanker?” Zayn says suddenly. “Also, why on earth are you guys being so loud?” 

The gravely hungover rasp of his voice causes both boys to jump, Harry going as far as to yelp and Aiden grab the closest item to his chest (a pillow) to use as a weapon. 

Ignoring their antics, Zayn shuffles closer to the empty spot on the sofa dragging his feet as he goes. 

“I didn’t even hear you! Where the fuck did you come from?” Aiden says, discreetly placing the pillow back down. 

Zayn whimpers at the shrill of his voice and kicks him lightly with his socked foot. “I’m not sure how that’s even possible considering I drag my feet, you can easily tell I’m coming from a kilometer away.” 

That’s embarrassingly true, Zayn does walk loud as shit. 

“Considering the fact that I threw up probably everything in my body, do you have any food?”

“Yeah, you begged us to get pizza last night.”

“Sick,” Aiden says quietly to himself as he hops off of the sofa and makes a beeline towards the kitchen. Immediately yanking the door to the refrigerator open and grabbing a slice out of the box, he takes a bite to the disgust of the other two on the couch.

“Please don’t tell me you’re eating that cold…” Zayn narrows his eyes. 

“It’s good cold.”

“You’re sick, like genuinely.” 

“In the head? Yes,” he grins. “But this isn’t exactly news, Zaynie.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “Watching you eat that pizza cold is going to make me vomit.” 

“It depends on where it comes from,” he says, trying to defend his stance. 

“Excuse me?”

“Only certain pizza’s taste good cold, like from certain places.”

“I’m too hungover for this conversation, I am begging you to stop.” 

“Fine,” Aiden pouts while munching on the last bit of crust. “Ow, what the hell? Why are my hands all scraped up? How did I not realize this earlier?” 

“Jesus mate, exactly how much did you drink last night? Do you seriously not remember?”

“Clearly not, what happened?”

“We did karaoke and then you ran off once we got back outside,” Harry deadpans. 

“What do you mean we did karaoke, no we didn’t?” Aiden raises an eyebrow in pure confusion.

“Not you being more focused on that as opposed to the running away part, hello?”

“Because I’ve done it before,” he responds offhandedly. “Anyway, back to the issue at hand: karaoke?” 

“I- okay sure, Aiden, that’s the more concerning bit,” Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “Yes, we went to karaoke. We even performed, everyone went crazy… it was your idea to go there in the first place.” 

Groaning exasperatedly, Zayn takes out his phone and taps for a few seconds before tossing it in the general direction of the idiodic blonde sitting next to him. “Believe it now?” 

Plucking the phone off of his lap, his eyes widen at the screen. “Why are we on the bar’s Instagram?!”

“Now that I’m not so sure about, but it is pretty funny.” 

“It’s not even remotely funny, Zayn,” he blanches. “This is so embarrassing,” he pouts. “I refuse to believe that we went to karaoke.” 

“Aiden… I just showed you proof.” 

“That doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I- are you kidding?” Zayn asks incredulously. “Is he kidding? Please tell me that he’s kidding,” Zayn’s eyebrows raise as high as they can possibly go as he snaps his neck towards Harry. 

Shrugging, Harry rolls his eyes as he slithers off of the sofa in his attempt to stand up and stretch his limbs. He groans as he stands, raising his arms up to the ceiling and leaning side to side to shake the stiffness out of his back. 

He ignores his two bickering friends as he makes his way back towards the kitchen to raid Zayn’s pantry and refrigerator. Stomach grumbling, he quickly sifts through all of the food he sees as nothing piques his fancy. “Zed, you have no food in this house can we please go out and get something to eat?” 

“Shit, H, we have practice in a few hours,” Aiden pipes up before Zayn even has a chance to agree, squinting down at his phone. 

“You’re fucking joking, mate,” the green-eyed boy groans, shutting the fridge with an abundance of annoyance coursing through his veins as he turns to face the blonde causing his annoyance. “Neither of us are anywhere near functioning enough for practice today, can’t we just skip?”

“I wish, mate,” the blonde responds, his eyes widening as he reads something on his phone. “But coach just said this is the most important practice of the season because our next game is against our rivals and if any of us miss, he’s gonna skin our arses.”

“Shit,” Harry curses under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well… Zed, do you have any sunglasses I can borrow? I fear I’m gonna need them.”

Seemingly ignoring Harry’s plea, Zayn continued to frown at his phone bringing it even closer to his face. “Oh my fuck—”

“Zayn,” Harry repeats, slightly louder. 

“No, no, no, NO!”

“Zayn….” Harry deadpans, walking back into the living room towards the occupied sofa. 

“There’s more photos!” the raven haired man exasperates, scrolling endlessly on his phone.

“ZAYN!” Harry raises his voice, an incredulous look plastered on his face. 

“WHAT!” Zayn jumps a bit, still not looking up.

“Are you even listening?”

“Are you? We’re all over this fucking page! I can’t just—” he continues to scroll. 

“Not important,” the curly-haired boy cuts the other boy off, not wanting his hangover to intensify any more than it already has. 

“But—” Zayn finally looks up from the Instagram page of the bar they had gone to last night.

“Aht, aht, aht,” he raises his hand in the other boy's direction in a ‘stop’ motion, frowning as he does so. “Glasses. Where?”

“Huh? Sunnies?” Zayn furrows his brows together, confusion washing over his face.

“Yes, it’s what I’ve been trying to ask you for the past five minutes. Focus, I beg.” Harry pleas. “We’ve got footie practice I have evidently forgotten about.”

“What flavor?”

“Any at this point, my eyes are killing me.”

“May I request a cunty pair?” Aiden pipes up as Zayn begrudgingly gets up from the sofa and makes his way back towards his bedroom to search for sunglasses that are evidently more important than the real issue at hand. 

“When we get to the pitch, I am going to kick a ball straight into your teeth,” Harry seethes. 

“But I didn’t even do anything!” the blonde throws his hands in the air.

“You have done a lot in the last twenty-four hours,” Harry glares at the blonde, who concedes and shrugs sheepishly.

“Oops?” he grins.

“Here,” Zayn tosses a few pairs of sunnies on the coffee table, plopping back down on the sofa behind him and snuggling back into his secluded corner. 

“When did you— Never mind that, gimme the clout goggles,” Aiden snatches up the white sunnies before Harry even has the chance to process the events that have just occurred. Checking his reflection on his phone, he whistles. “Just call me Twenty One Pilots trash, lads.”

“Aiden, would you shut the fuck up?” Harry snaps, grabbing the other pair of sunnies on the table, what appears to be a dark turtle print version of clout goggles, and sliding them onto his nose. He rubs his temples, the paracetamol having not helped his hangover headache in the slightest and the reminder of practice immediately putting a damper on his mood.

“So,” Zayn breaks the silence, sitting back against the sofa and crossing his legs. “Where do you lads want to go get some brekkie?” 

“I need a fry up in my ass,” Aiden all but moans. 

“…lovely visual,” Zayn mutters, giving the blonde a sideways glance and shaking his head. “Let’s all change real quick and we can head out, yeah?”

Mumbling agreements, the three boys all split off to get ready before meeting back in the living room. Harry goes straight to his designated drawer in Zayn’s room that houses all of his spare clothes and quickly throws on a plain black t-shirt and on top of that his mostly all black hoodie with a little yellow spinning star stitched onto the left pec. Grabbing a pair of black joggers, he yanks them onto his legs not realizing how chilly he actually was and savoring the slight raise in body temperature. 

Now fully dressed, he makes his way to the loo to brush his teeth, put on deodorant, and attempt to wet and style his hair, seeing as a shower would be pointless considering the grueling practice he has later. Quickly realizing he has absolutely no patience for properly styling it, he rakes a brush through it to detangle before taking a spare towel and drying his hair slightly. Running his fingers through it, he decides the best his hair is going to get for now is essentially having the entire front dangling in his eyes, too exhausted to properly care. 

Sighing, he exits the loo and walks over to the shoe rack, grabbing his blue and yellow Gazelles and slides them on his feet before shuffling back towards the sofa where Aiden evidently beat him to. Sinking down on the plush cushion next to the blonde, he exhales lightly and tosses his head back and throws an arm over his eyes to block out even more light, head absolutely throbbing. 

There’s absolutely no way I’m going to be able to run laps today, this is going to be complete torture, he thinks to himself as a pitiful sound escapes his lips. What feels like seconds later, he’s jolted awake by Zayn jingling his keys in his hand announcing that he’s ready. 

“How are you already dressed?” Harry squints up at his best friend, stretching his limbs slightly and feeling another satisfying crack in his lower back. “It usually takes you so much longer. Also please stop with the keys, it’s too loud,” he grunts. 

“H, we’re quite literally all dressed the same and I took not even fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah mate, you nodded off,” Aiden chuckles beside him. 

“Precisely,” Zayn nods. “We’re getting brekkie not going on a damn excursion. Or would you prefer me take an hour,” he rolls his eyes and begins hauling the other boy off the sofa. 

Moaning in what Harry can’t tell is pain from his headache or simply fatigue, he lets his body get yanked up and dragged towards the front door. “Shut up, I barely know what day it is right now,” he grumbles. “Oh, this is so painful I can’t do this,” he pouts and hunches forward slightly while wrapping his arms around his abdomen. 

“Suck it up, babygirl,” he says as he rubs Harry’s back in soothing circles. “The paracetamol should kick in soon.” 

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do,” Zayn snickers and leads them all out of the flat, stopping to lock his front door before heading down the steps. 

“I’m genuinely about to just start crawling to the restaurant,” Aiden says and Harry turns around to look back at him. The blonde has a yellow beanie on with his hood covering the majority of it tied taught directly under his chin and joggers tucked into his socks dragging his slides along the concrete. Instead of continuing to walk, Aiden just stands there breathing heavily, head raised to the sky. 

“If you start doing that, we’re not waiting. I need to sit before I pass out,” Harry replies halfheartedly as he continues trudging down the sidewalk. “Or honestly I might end up joining you.” 

“What happened to ‘wanting a fry up in your ass’, hm?” Zayn quips. 

“You live too far, it’s not fun anymore,” Aiden whines. 

“We just started walking? It’s right down the road, be so serious.” 

“I’m the most serious,” he says as he starts walking again to catch up (maybe even a little bit faster than before), not at all wanting to be left alone and needing fried eggs and buttered toast in his system expeditiously. 

“Then shut up and stop complaining.” 

“Why are the both of you being so mean to me this morning?” 

“Not quite sure what you mean.” 

Harry spends the rest of the walk in silence, listening to the two idiots he calls friends bicker the entire way there. He spends a bit of time wondering whether his practice gear is clean when he remembers he hasn’t been able to find his practice jersey in a hot minute. He brushes it off, figuring that Aiden might have an extra he can borrow and instead focuses on trying to calm the pounding in his head for the remainder of the walk. They reach the restaurant, a nice little family-owned business they found the morning after their very first night out together in Leeds, and take a seat in a nearby booth. They each grab a menu that was conveniently placed on the edge of the table. 

“Fuck, I can’t wait to down a delicious fry up,” Aiden moans (albeit loudly gaining dirty looks from other customers around them), putting his menu back where it goes and closing his eyes in pure bliss. 

“Okay…” A girl’s voice breaks out, their waitress having walked up just at that moment. “I guess I don’t need to take your order,” she giggles lightly.

Aiden’s eyes shoot open and he sits up, a blush coating his cheeks. Zayn snorts and hides behind his menu while the blonde scrambles to apologize. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were there… I—”

“It’s okay, love,” the girl laughs again, holding up a notepad, ready to take their orders. “My name’s Cara, I’ll be your server today. Can I get you lads anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a cup of tea, no milk and two sugars, please.” Zayn orders first, having recovered from his small laughing fit.

“Could I get a cup of coffee, please? A splash of milk,” Harry orders, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Of course,” Cara nods at him, turning her attention to the blonde across from the curly-haired boy. “And what for you?”

“Uhh, could I get a chocolate milk, please?” Aiden stammers over his answer, clearly still embarrassed by what she had to hear from him.

“Absolutely, I’ll be right back with your drinks and give you lads a few minutes to figure out what you’d like,” Cara smiles at them and turns, leaving to the back to get their drink orders. 

“I can’t believe you said that in front of the waitress, mate,” Zayn snickers, not looking up from his menu. 

“Shut up,” Aiden murmurs, crossing his arms and slumping in his seat.

Harry rolls his eyes at their antics, turning his attention back to the menu in front of them. He glances over all of their breakfast items before deciding he could really use some scrambled eggs with a side of turkey bacon. He folds his menu back up and places it on the rack that houses all of the other menus. He disassociates for a moment, thinking about his pounding headache and having to practice with it before he’s snapped out by Cara setting his coffee in front of him.

“Alright lads, are we ready to order?” She questions, flipping her ginger hair over her shoulder and getting her pen ready to write down their orders.

“Yeah, I’ll have the cinnamon french toast, please, love,” Zayn orders, giving her a charming smile. “Cheers.”

“Could I get the scrambled eggs with a side of turkey bacon?” Harry gives her a polite nod. “Cheers, love.”

“Yes, of course,” Cara nods back to him, turning her attention to Aiden once more. “Do you still want that fry up, love?”

“...Yes,” Aiden sheepishly answers, his blush darkening once more.

“Awesome, I’ll be back with your food as soon as it is done,” Cara smiles, leaving them alone once more.

Aiden and Zayn reach for their phones, beginning to scroll and ignore each other. Harry can’t help, but feel that he’s forgetting something when he remembers that he needs to ask his blonde roommate about an extra jersey.

“Shit wait, before I forget,” Harry pipes up and sits up straighter in the booth. “Aiden, do you have an extra practice jersey? I seem to have misplaced mine, but I’m not sure where.”

“‘Course, just remind me when we get back to the flat before we head out to the pitch.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I wonder where the hell it went,” the green-eyed boy ponders. 

“Do you remember when you last had it?” Zayn questions, having been listening in.

Harry hums to himself, twirling his napkin absentmindedly trying to retrace his steps. “Well, I was at Beckett’s the other night because I went there after the game.”

“That’s where you went?” Aiden exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at the curly lad.

“Ah yes, Beckett,” Zayn says wistfully. “He’s fit.”

“You met him?”

“Unfortunately, no. Not officially at least. He was at the game and he called Harry over when we were talking and I got a look.”

“What!”

“Did you not hear what he yelled when you guys were stretching?”

“No,” Aiden pouts. “What did he say? No wait, better yet how fit is he? I’ve barely seen glimpses whenever he’s sneaking out of the flat, honestly I’ve only heard him because they fuck so lou—”

“Would you shut up!” Harry blushes, again.

“I’ll tell you later,” Zayn leans over and whispers in Aiden’s ear discreetly.

“But, yes,” Harry says quietly, not having heard Zayn.

“Maybe you left it there,” Zayn says, giving a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Ask him if he’s seen it.”

“Probably,” he mutters to himself as he takes out his phone to send Beckett a text and sees he has a text from Reece, ‘hey just wanted to text you and tell you how amazing your performance was again haha get home safe, hope to see you soon :)’

Choosing to ignore that for the time being, he texts Beckett instead ‘hi, i was wondering if you happened to see a jersey in your flat, i can’t find one of my practice jerseys and i have practice soon :(’

His phone buzzes almost immediately with a response ‘hey h, yeah it somehow got stuck between the sofa cushions one of my players found it the other day’

Eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he reads that, he types back furiously ‘oh fuck, so sorry about that mustve been awk’

‘no worries! they were asking a million questions, nosy little shits they are’

‘what did u tell them?’ Harry sends, heart beginning to rabbit in his chest. 

‘i was dodging the question bc its none of their business but they wouldn't let up bc it said leeds on it so i just said my bf left it here’

The phone clatters on the table as it slips out of Harry’s hands. His heart starts beating slightly faster (if that’s even possible), hands beginning to shake. 

“H? You alright,” Aiden nudges Harry’s shoulder in concern. 

“Erm, yes,” Harry says numbly after a while. “I mean, no, I- yeah no.”

“What did he say?”

“I—he—I—,” Harry stutters out. “You know how you both always ask me if Beckett and I are dating?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well he—I—he just said—”

The blonde immediately grabs the phone off of the table, briefly putting it in front of Harry’s face to unlock it and goes straight to his messages. Zayn shakes his head in bewilderment at the action, never having seen anyone do that before, taking a sip of his tea. 

“Oh,” he breathes. 

“Yeah, oh.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Zayn says from across the table, completely lost. 

“Well… Harry left his jersey at Beckett’s,” Aiden starts. 

“Oh sick, so it’s not lost,” he replies, completely missing the tones the others are using. “He probably even washed it for you and you can just get it back next time you see him,” he smiles, still not understanding the problem. 

“Uh, yeah. That’s not the issue.”

“Excuse me?” Zayn says, raising an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. 

“It seems that someone on Beckett’s team found Harry’s jersey and evidently the entire team demanded they know whose it is and he just so felt the need to tell them that it’s his boyfriend’s.”

“Oh, I see,” Zayn blanches, tea long forgotten. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to answer?” Zayn asks. 

“I don’t know, that’s weird right? Like why would he say that?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t look too much into it, H. He definitely just said that to get them off of his back. You should talk to him about it.”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know,” Harry says as he starts picking at his nail polish underneath the table. “I feel weird now…”

“It’s going to be fine, you just need to speak to him. I’m sure it’s nothing. Plus, explaining your situation isn’t anyone else's business except your own. He doesn’t need to tell his entire team your guys’ business.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Wait… he said his team?” Aiden blurts out suddenly. 

“Yes, Aiden, you read the messages yourself,” Harry deadpans. 

“That lad plays footie?”

“Can you fucking focus please.”

“I am focusing! I’m just confused as to why his team flipped out about a Leeds jersey in the first place.”

“He’s a footie trainer.”

“For what team?”

“Is that really what’s important right now?”

“No but—”

“Then shut up about it,” Harry snaps. 

“I’m sorry,” Aiden apologizes and immediately stops talking. 

Harry hums in acknowledgement and stays silent for a while. “Sorry, Aiden,” he mutters, feeling bad for snapping at his roommate. 

“It’s okay, H, I completely understand I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Okay, I think it’s time to go, yeah?” Zayn pipes up. 

“I think you’re right,” Harry sighs, slapping a few notes on the table as the three of them start gathering their belongings together to head out, appetite and hangover long forgotten. 

The three boys make their way towards the exit of the restaurant and Zayn sends an apologetic glance at Cara who just so happened to be heading back towards their table with plates stacked on her arms. 

“Shit, our food’s coming,” Zayn mutters and sheepishly makes his way back to the table. “You guys head out, I’m right behind you.” 

Barely acknowledging his friend, Harry makes a beeline to the door immediately stepping onto the sidewalk and inhaling a deep but shaky breath. He feels Aiden’s hand on his shoulder steadying him, but Harry ignores it and shrugs him off instead. 

“Harry—”

“Don’t, okay? Just… don’t.” 

Seeing his friend in distress, Aiden bites his lip unsure of how to comfort the other boy and nods silently. Harry takes in another deep breath before storming off down the street, back in the direction of Zayn’s flat, Aiden quickly scrambles to follow. 

Harry is fuming, actually fuming doesn’t even begin to cut it if he’s being honest. Beckett knew what this was when they started, so why would he ever think it was okay to just—

I’m gonna be sick, he thinks. Willing his nausea away, he continues down the street with his fists clenched, nails biting into his palms, ignoring everything and everyone around him. 

By the time he makes it to Zayn’s front door, he hears frantic whispering behind him and he immediately whips his head around, glaring at his friends. 

“If you lot are going to talk about me, at least have the decency to say it to my face,” he seethes at the boys behind him and they stop dead in their tracks, the whispering immediately subsides. 

“I- we’re not?”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Z, now is most definitely not the time for bullshit.” 

Fiddling with the handles of the to-go bag, Zayn cringes. “Okay fine, we were talking—” Harry scoffs. “Not talking shit, Harry. We’re trying to figure out what to do here.” 

“There isn’t anything to do. What can you even do in this situation?” 

“Well…” Aiden mumbles, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head. “You can respond to him and ask him why he said what he said.” 

The silence is deafening. 

Harry can feel his eye twitch slightly. Instead of answering, he simply turns back around and shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, huffing out a breath as he stares at the front door waiting for Zayn to come up and unlock it. 

The minutes feel like hours as neither of his friends have made any move to bring this wonderful party inside. “Are you ever going to open the door or are we just going to stand out here freezing our bollocks off all day?” Harry snaps (holding in a shiver), refusing to divert his gaze from the door. 

“Right,” he hears Zayn say behind him before the frantic sound of scuffling shoes on the pavement follow him up the steps as Zayn fumbles with the keys trying to unlock the door as fast as humanly possible, all the while holding the bag of what is now their cold and soggy breakfast. 

Once unlocked, Harry pushes his way forward into the flat. Without taking off his trainers, he walks straight into the direction of Zayn's bedroom and flops face first onto the bed. Shoving his face into a pillow, he lets out a muffled scream that borders on a screech. 

He does that a few more times until he feels like his vocal cords have strained, feeling slightly better now that he let that out of his system. Decoding that breathing is a much better alternative than smothering himself into a pillow, he turns his head to the side and blinks away the tears that have started to form and he sees his friends standing stoic in the doorway. 

“Got that out, did ya?” Aiden says from behind Zayn.

“Shut up,” he murmurs and turns his face back into the pillow; which now that he’s thinking about it, fucking hurts like a bitch because he forgot to take off his sunglasses and the frames are digging uncomfortably into his face. He clenches his fists in between the sheets as he feels the bed dip on either side of him. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Zayn says softly as he lightly runs his fingers through the green-eyed boy’s hair. 

“No it’s not.” 

“Yes it is,” Aiden replies. “I will admit, it’s a little weird that he said what he did but I’m sure he had a reason for it.”

“He probably felt like he was backed into a corner. You know how annoying teams can be. He said they wouldn’t let up.”

“You guys are supposed to be on my side,” Harry whines, muffling into the pillow beneath him. “Why are you both defending him?” 

“We’re not defending him, H,” Zayn gives the younger lad an expectant look. “You know we’re always on your side, but it will not hurt you to just text him back and ask why he said what he did. You’ll never know until you ask.”

“...I hate when you’re right,” the green-eyed boy mumbles into the pillow, a pout settling on his face. He groans a final time before he sits up and digs his phone out of the pocket of his joggers, opening his text messages with Beckett. He sits there for at least another five minutes just staring at the last text that had been sent before he even begins to formulate his response. 

‘oh, is there a reason u said bf? i thought we agreed no strings attached?’ he ends up going with, sending it before he can change his mind about asking and spend the rest of the day anxiety-ridden over this situation. He quickly locks the phone and chucks it towards the foot of the bed. 

“Okay, I asked him…” Harry trails off, staring into space before staring directly into Aiden’s eyes. “Do you think Coach will still make me come to practice if I throw up? I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Definitely not,” Aiden gives him a sad smile. “The way he made it seem is that the biggest game of the season is coming up. I don’t even know who we’re playing honestly, I lost the schedule.” 

“Fuuuuck,” the curly-haired lad groans, throwing his head back. 

Zayn and Aiden’s eyes meet and their faces quickly contort into grimaces as Harry continues his tantrum, not wanting to agitate the other any more than he already is. 

“Get up,” Zayn says suddenly and Harry moans and mumbles in response. “No, we’re not doing this anymore so get your arse up,” he tugs on the other boy's hoodie. 

“Mmphf, no,” Harry buries himself further into the pillow. Maybe if he can just— “Ow! What the fuck, Z! That fucking hurt,” he shoots up and rubs the back of his head where Zayn smacked the shit out of him.

Zayn grins triumphantly as he raises his hand again menacingly, “get up or I do it again.”

“You wouldn— motherfucker!” Harry yelps as he’s smacked even harder.

“Try me, bitch. Now get the fuck up,” he says and narrows his eyes at his best friend. 

Harry pouts and slowly rolls over and looks directly at Aiden. “So you’re just going to let him beat me up then?”

“To be fair, it was a light nudge,” the blonde gives him a sheepish smile. 

“Light nudge my arse,” he mutters. “I’m up, happy?” 

“Ecstatic, actually,” Zayn hums and grabs Harry’s hands and starts to pull his limp body off of his bed. Once finally on his feet, Harry’s lip wobbles slightly but he swallows down the urge to break down again and takes a deep breath as he allows himself to be dragged into the kitchen by his best friend. 

Sitting down at the island, Harry drops his head into his arms and lets out yet another long groan, feeling slightly comforted by the small circles being rubbed onto his back. 

“You need to eat,” Aiden leans down to whisper into his ear. 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Too bad, you have to. We have practice in about an hour and I’m not about to let you run around on an empty stomach and inevitably pass out because of it babe.” 

“You’re not my mum.”

“Actually, if you’re gonna call me anything, I’d prefer you call me Daddy.”

Blushing, Harry picks up his head and tries to give Aiden the nastiest glare he can possibly muster with tear tracks drying on his cheeks and wet puffy eyes. “Did you just refer to yourself as, Daddy?” 

“Don’t act like I don’t hear you calling Beckett that every night,” the other boy quips with a smirk. 

“I—shut up,” he mumbles. Unable to think of a snarky comeback, he drags the takeout boxes closer to himself and digs through to find his scrambled eggs and turkey bacon he ordered, pouting when he opens the container. 

“What’s wrong now?” Zayn sighs exasperatedly.

“It’s cold,” he whines.

“That’s what a microwave is for, love. Give it here,” he reaches his hand out for the box and walks to the microwave to plop it in and presses a few buttons. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

“Stop babying me, it’s rude.”

“We’ll stop babying you when you stop moping around,” Aiden says. “Everything is going to be fine, yeah it’s a little weird that Beckett said what he said but don’t let it ruin your entire day.”

“He makes you happy doesn’t he? Why are you so upset about this anyway? I figured that becoming official would’ve been the next step,” Zayn chimes in.

Not wanting to answer just yet, Harry rushes out of his seat and towards the now beeping microwave signaling that his food is ready to be taken out. He takes out his food and mindlessly stabs his fork into the eggs pondering the question.

Does Beckett make you happy, or is he just there and convenient for the time being? He thinks to himself. Yikes, that’s fucked up.

“Uhh, H?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yes. For sure.”

“That’s one too many yesses. Doesn’t exactly sound very convincing if you ask me,” Aiden mutters.

“I mean it’s not necessarily a lie per say. He does make me happy…”

“But…” Zayn prompts.

“But, nothing,” he replies and Zayn immediately shoots him that look. “Fuck, fine. But I still don’t think that I’m ready for all of that. I mean, it’s been long enough and I probably should take that step but I’m not sure if I want the label… yet. Not to say that I’ll never want that but I don’t think it’s the right time.”

“Is it because of─”

“No. Yes. Shut up, I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll back off.”

“Thank you,” Harry says quietly. “I’ll call Beckett later so we can talk about it, for now let’s just eat so I don’t completely pass out during practice,” he forces a smile and shoves a forkful of eggs in his mouth and makes his way back towards his vacant seat.

+++

Fuck yeah, that feels nice, Harry thinks as he lies down in the grass trying to catch his breath. Looking up at the slow moving clouds, he tries to slow his breathing down as quickly as possible before he’s forced to get back up and continue the absolutely grueling practice. Fluttering his eyes shut, he tilts his head backwards slightly and lightly twirls his fingers through the blades of grass on either side of him. Muscles aching already from his short break, he’s beginning to regret laying down completely instead of rounding the pitch at a slower pace.

“Get yer lazy arses up and get moving! You lot are going to run five more laps!” Harry hears Coach yell from the other end of the pitch. “I’m not fucking joking, let’s go lads,” he screams and blows his whistle to emphasize his demand. Harry winces at the pitch of the whistle and takes another deep breath before rolling onto his stomach and slowly getting up. 

Shaking out the slight pins and needles from his legs, the curly headed boy takes a few steps forward towards the rest of the team before starting into a jog to get his blood pumping once more. He sees Aiden a few people ahead and makes his way over to his roommate, not wanting to suffer through these wonderful laps alone. 

“Hey,” Aiden huffs when Harry comes into stride next to him. “How are you feeling?” 

“In what context?” 

“Uh… any?” 

“Well, considering the fact that the atrocious amount of alcohol we drank last night is fucking sloshing around my stomach I’d say not too hot,” he responds and Aiden snorts out a laugh. “In terms of what happened this morning? Also not so hot, but I’ll get over it. You?” 

“Yeah I kinda feel like shit myself. I swear I feel like it’s going to come back up once we’re done with practice.” 

“I genuinely don’t even know how that would be possible considering you expelled it all this morning.” 

“Shut up,” Aiden cackles and lightly shoves the other boy, not breaking his stride. “At least I bounced back.” 

“Oh yeah most definitely, it really looked like you were living your best life hugging the toilet on the verge of tears.” 

“We do not speak about that! I have not a clue what you’re talking about curly! Now catch me if you can,” Aiden winks and takes off at a much faster pace with Harry right on his tail. 

The two boys continue their laps, bickering lightly with the rest of the team about the amount of running they’ve done during this practice alone. 

Who the fuck are we even playing that this is the worst practice we’ve had so far? Harry wonders. Shit, I should really start checking the game schedule… 

“Oi! Sprint the last two so you lot can finally be done,” their Coach blares his whistle once more and the team bursts into a flurry of bodies, everyone wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. Harry takes it upon himself to push himself to his limit and get towards the front of the pack, despite his protesting stomach. 

Yeah, I’m definitely not going to have fun with that once it settles, he thinks as he finishes the last lap. 

Nearly limping to his discarded water bottle, the curly headed boy snatches it up and gulps the remainder of his water down, gasping for breath in between chugs. 

“I’m going to take the coldest fucking shower known to man when we get back to the locker room, I swear,” Aiden says nudging him in the arm. 

“Tell me about it,” Harry breathes out. “I feel like I could sleep for an entire year after that, fucking hell.” 

The boys make their way back to the herd of bodies surrounding their Coach as the older man taps his clipboard on his thigh. “So… as you all know, our upcoming game is going to be the toughest one of the season.” 

Ah yes, we all know, for sure, Harry stifles a laugh. 

“I don’t want you lot fucking around for the next week and a half, yeah? We need to give it our all. You’ve been busting your fucking arses so far and I couldn’t be prouder. But now this is it, yeah? We win this one, and we qualify for the championship. So listen up—” 

+++ 

The pounding of the water from the shower head hitting the tile is soothing, at least it helps a little to drown out the blood pounding in Harry’s ears as he lathers himself with soap. Scrubbing every speck of dirt and sweat from his body, just wishing to lie down in his bed and nap. He fucking deserves it after the whirlwind of a morning he’s had. 

“Hey mate,” Aiden whistles near his shower stall. “You about ready to go?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a bit.” 

“Okie dokie, I’ll meet you in the car. Don’t forget to lock up, you’re the last one here.” 

“Sounds good,” he calls out and hears Aiden’s retreating footsteps. He feels like he can finally exhale once he hears the telltale sound of the door slamming in the distance. 

Dunking his water under the spray, Harry nearly waterboards himself trying to get his heart to slow down. Just thinking about contacting Beckett to get to the bottom of this is nauseating. It’s not even the fact that he said what he said to his team, it’s just that there is absolutely no way that Harry’s ready for something like that. Even though the label wasn’t directed at him, he still feels somewhat guilty. 

Guilty for what exactly? Harry thinks to himself and laughs. He laughs and laughs, the sound reverberating off the tiled walls of the locker room. Because that’s the fucking kicker isn’t it? Feeling guilty that your situationship called you his boyfriend to other people, when there’s actually nothing wrong with that. Feeling guilty because as much fun as you’re having, minding your business, there’s always going to be that little nagging in your head that says what about him? What about—what we had was something special. 

It doesn’t even matter how you were treated, it’s the fact that he still has your heart and no matter what you do to try and fill that void, those feelings will always be there. Harry needs what he and Beckett have to go back to what they were, no labels. But how do you even bring that up without sounding like you’re losing your mind and you’re not over your ex? 

To be fair, you’re not.

“Fuck off,” he mutters to himself. Grabbing the shampoo, he squirts a dollop into his palm and begins to massage it into his hair. Lathering the suds all throughout his hair calms him slightly so he drags out the process. Rinse and repeat, shampooing his hair once more. To be fair, he probably needs it with the amount of sweat that’s probably in it after today’s practice. After getting all of the shampoo out the second time, he moves onto the conditioner and repeats the process before taking his brush and raking through the knots. 

The air smells sweet. It smells just like—

No. 

The squeak of the knob makes a nauseating sound as Harry shuts off the water. Grabbing his towel, he dries himself off in the stall before grabbing his toiletries and making his way towards his locker to rummage through his clothes. 

Once he’s dressed, he knocks his duffel bag to the floor and takes a seat on the bench. Picking up his phone, he scrolls through his contacts to Beckett’s name, rereading their most recent messages. 

Just call him. 

Hovering his finger over the call button, Harry takes a bated breath. He worries his lip in anticipation as the phone rings. 

It rings. 

And rings. 

And rings. 

And rings. 

And rin—

“Hey, baby,” Beckett greets warmly, Harry can feel his smile through the phone. “How was practice?” 

Harry’s heart beats a mile a minute, his face flushing in heat at the pet name. How is he meant to have this conversation? How is he meant to—

“Hi,” he says quietly. “It was good. Long and tiring, you know how it is whenever big games come up.” Harry runs his other hand through his hair, pulling at the strands anxiously wanting to get this over with. 

“Oof yeah, believe me I know. Our team has been going through the same, the boys nearly passed out on the pitch today,” he chuckles. 

The boys.

Harry’s heart stutters to a stop. In fact, it breaks. Beckett’s boys are the reason they’re about to have this conversation in the first place. The perfect little cherry on top of his absolutely fantastic fucking day. 

“Listen…” 

“Is everything okay?” Harry can hear shuffling on the other line, Beckett’s voice sounding with worry. “Do you need me to come pick you up or somethi—” 

It’s now or never, before you let this go on too far.

“We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Silence. That’s what Harry hears through the receiver, save for Beckett’s sharp intake of breath. The seconds tick by, neither of the boys saying a word, each too afraid to make the first move. Is it seconds? Oh, hell, it could quite possibly have been minutes.

The quiet is suffocating, thick with unspoken words, and Harry is suddenly aware of the pounding in his chest. He can feel the tension crawling under his skin, crawling all the way down to his fingertips, and he can’t seem to shake it off. He needs to say something, but his throat feels too tight, his words lodged somewhere deep inside him where they can’t escape.

“I—what?” Beckett chokes out, unsure of where this is coming from. “Talk about what? Baby, what’s going on?”

The term baby feels like a punch to Harry’s gut, not because it’s necessarily meant with malice, but because it’s exactly what he wanted—what he still wants, in some twisted, terrified part of him. It only makes him feel more distant from his own heart.

“Don’t. Just… don’t,” he finally breathes out, voice rough. He doesn’t know what he wants to say, but everything he doesn’t want to say is spilling out all at once.

“Don’t what, Harry?” Beckett’s voice falters now, a slight edge of panic creeping in. “What the hell is going on?”

“We need to talk,” Harry starts, sucking a deep breath in through his nose and exhaling slowly, as if that will somehow release all of the anxiety coiling inside him. “I just… I can’t keep doing this, Beckett.”

“Yeah, you said that. I just don’t know what about… we were fine yesterday. Hell, we were fine earlier! Did I do something or—” Beckett’s voice rises slightly, his confusion palpable.

Harry scoffs, the sound bitter and sharp as he paces back and forth in the locker room. He feels trapped, suffocated by the very situation he’s put himself in. His sneakers squeak under his feet with every step, but it doesn’t help. Nothing does.

“You can say that,” Harry mutters, almost to himself, but loud enough for Beckett to hear. “I’m just—” he stops himself, clenching his fist around the phone. He can nearly hear the confusion that’s surely painting Beckett’s face from the other end right about now.

“What the hell did I do?” Beckett raises his voice a tad, his patience slipping, though Harry can tell he’s still trying to keep it together.

Harry throws his hands up in exasperation, his frustration boiling over. “You told your team that we’re together!” Harry yells, panic rising in his chest. He starts to pace again, his words tumbling out faster than he can catch them. “You told them that we’re together, Beckett! What am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to be with that? What does that mean?”

Beckett is silent for a beat, and when he finally speaks again, it’s as if the walls are starting to close on him too. “Yeah, to get them off my ass, Harry! Besides, we’re pretty much together already, are we not?” The words come out almost defensively. “I haven’t done anything with anyone else in months. Haven’t even thought about speaking to anyone else. Not since I’ve met you, really.”

“No!” Harry’s voice cracks with emotion, his throat tight. “No, we are not boyfriends!” The words come out sharp and desperate. “We agreed—no strings attached,” he spits out, the memory of that agreement coming back with the force of a slap. He can hear his own words from that first night, when everything was simpler, before it all started to blur. “We agreed,” he repeats, quieter this time, his voice laced with frustration and something deeper. A fear that he’s not yet ready to face.

“You can’t be serious…” Beckett’s voice wavers, and Harry can practically taste the disbelief in his tone.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Harry asks, more to himself than to Beckett, though the question still hangs heavy in the air. His head is spinning now, his thoughts moving faster than he can keep up with. He knows this conversation is getting out of hand, but he can’t stop it.

Beckett’s words come at him like a sharp blow. “Is calling you my boyfriend really so bad? I assumed that’s where we were headed…” There’s a heavy pause on the other end, as if Beckett’s gathering himself, trying to figure out what exactly Harry means. “I mean, we see each other all the time… for Christ’s sake, Harry, you have a whole drawer of your shit at my flat. So what is this really about?” His voice is a mix of frustration and confusion, but there’s something else there too—a hint of vulnerability that Harry can’t quite ignore.

Beckett was right. What is this really about? Harry’s chest tightens, and his mind spins, suddenly flooded with memories of conversations just like this one. The ‘what are we?’ talks. The ones that always ended in uncertainty and empty promises. Not a fan of it the first time, but somehow, even worse the second time around. He wants to argue, to explain it away, but he can’t find the words. Instead, he stays silent on the line, his fingers digging into the side of his phone, as if it can ground him. If that makes him a coward, then so be it.

“I don’t know what I want,” he mutters, the words coming out broken. It’s the truth, but it feels like a betrayal in the moment, and the weight of that truth is heavy on his tongue. “I like what we have the way we have it.”

“But where is this going, Harry?” Beckett’s voice breaks slightly, and it’s enough to make Harry’s heart lurch. “I genuinely don’t understand. I thought this was going somewhere real… I care about you a lot, Harry. You mean a lot to me. This isn’t just about the sex.” The last part hits Harry harder than he expected. He knew Beckett had feelings for him, but hearing it like this, so raw and unguarded, makes it all feel more real than he’s willing to admit.

Harry lowers the phone from his ear in disbelief, the words lingering in the space between them. He’s frozen, unable to respond right away, and the quiet on the line is almost unbearable. He feels a sharp intake of breath escape his lips, a gasp of something undefinable. Is this really what he wanted? To be in this position? To be the one who’s unable to commit? This is exactly what he wanted, isn’t it?

But the thought doesn’t sit well with him. Harry can feel his chest tightening, his heart aching in a way that’s different from before. The realization stings—he’s the one holding back. He’s the one who isn’t ready to let go of the past. He’s the one who’s terrified of repeating the same mistakes, of feeling that same loss.

“Beckett… I just—” Harry starts, but his voice falters, the words too heavy to make their way out of his throat. He wants to explain, but he doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is racing, tumbling over the idea of being with someone else, of being with someone, period. He doesn’t want to hurt Beckett, but it feels like the more he tries to hold onto something real, the more the past clouds everything.

Becket sighs loudly, exasperated but still holding onto something, some piece of hope. “Harry, I care about you,” he says softly, almost pleasing, like he’s trying to remind Harry of something he should already know. “This isn’t just a fling to me. It hasn’t been for a while now and I thought you felt the same way.”

“I do!” Harry almost shouts, his hands shaking. He brings the phone back to his ear, his palm pressed to his face, trying to control the rising panic in his chest. “I do care about you, Beckett, but…” he stops himself, the ‘but’ hanging heavy in the air, a gaping hole between them.

“But what?!” the older man’s voice cracks, and it’s like a knife through Harry’s chest. He hates hearing Beckett like this. Hates that he’s the one making him feel this way. “Do you care or don’t you? I don’t—” Beckett cuts himself off, his breath sharp. “This is just like the last time, isn’t it? You’re afraid, and I get it. But I thought we had something different, Harry. I thought this was different. That you were different.”

Harry’s chest tightens even further, he’s right. This was supposed to be different. He promised himself that this time he wouldn’t screw it up. That he’d give something a real chance and that he'd stop running away from what he felt. But now here he is, standing on the edge of something that could be good, something that could heal him, and he’s just… terrified.

“You don’t get it,” Harry whispers, his voice strained. He presses his hand to his forehead, as though that could somehow hold him together. “I can’t just—” He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I can’t just dive in and pretend like nothing happened. Like I didn’t lose him.”

There it is. The elephant in the room, laid bare. Harry’s heart clenches, and the air in his lungs suddenly feels thick. The locker room suddenly feels ten times smaller now that he’s finally said it out loud. Finally, but it doesn’t feel like relief whatsoever. In fact, it feels like even more weight has been placed on him. Like he’s been carrying this for so long and he doesn't know how to let go of it.

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. Beckett doesn’t respond right away and Harry wonders if he’s waiting for him to explain further, but he doesn’t know how to explain. Where do you even begin when trying to explain something like that? How can he make Beckett understand that it’s not about him but about what he’s afraid of losing again? About the walls he’s built up that he’s just not ready to tear down?

“I’m sorry,” Harry says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m not ready. Not like you want me to be at least.”

He can hear Beckett’s breathing become shallow now. He can hear the hurt in the silence that follows. It hangs there, thick and uncomfortable, and for a moment, neither of them knows what to say. Neither of them knows how to fix it.

“Is that really all this is, or is there someone else?” Beckett asks softly, a note of sadness creeping into his words.

Harry’s stomach drops at the question. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words stick to his throat. What is he supposed to say to that? That Beckett is right in feeling this way? That he’s holding Beckett at arm’s length because his ghost still haunts him, even after all this time? That no matter how much he likes Beckett, no matter how much he cares for him, he’s still not sure he’s ready to let anyone in?

“It’s not that simple,” Harry murmurs, running a hand through his messy curls in frustration. “I can’t just—” he cuts himself off, realizing that he’s only spiraling further. “Yes, there’s someone else but it’s not what you think,” he lets out a ragged breath unsure if he wants to admit this to someone else. “I was in a relationship and it ended… badly. It really fucked me up, okay? It’s hard for me to open up and let myself be happy again.”

Beckett is quiet on the other line and Harry can almost hear the weight of everything pressing down on him too, hear the questions swirling. “I’m not asking you to forget about him, Harry,” the other man says quietly, and it’s the calmest he’s sounded. “I’m not asking you to erase what you had with him. I just want to know if I mean something to you, if I’m worth the risk.”

Harry’s heart thuds in his chest, the question hanging in the air, unanswered, waiting for him to say something that will break the tension. But all he feels is stuck. His fingers tremble as they grip the phone tighter, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say anymore, doesn’t know what’s the right thing to do.

“You are,” he finally breathes out after what feels like minutes, his voice barely audible. “You mean something to me, Beckett. Of course you do. But I’m not—” he pauses, his words catching. “I can’t give you what you want right now. I can’t be that guy for you.”

The other man’s response is slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to process Harry’s words and make sense of them. “So what are we doing here, Harry? What am I supposed to do with all this? You’re saying you care, yet you won’t let me in. I can’t keep doing this, being stuck between what could be and what isn’t.”

“I know,” Harry’s voice barely a whisper, the weight of those words hitting him hard. He knows. He knows he’s been leading Beckett on, even if he didn’t mean to. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Beckett says, and there’s a sadness in his voice now that cuts straight through Harry. A sadness that he put there. “I thought we could make it work. But it’s clear that we’re not on the same page.” There’s a long pause before the other man speaks again, “I need something more than this, Harry. I need more than just… I need someone who’s ready to take that step with me.”

“I’m not ready,” he murmurs, as though it’s an apology. But even though the words are out there, he still feels like something is broken inside of him. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to.

Beckett sighs heavily on the other end of the line. “Then maybe we need to take a step back for a while. Maybe we need some space to figure things out,” voice soft and almost resigned. “I just don’t want to pressure you, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to either of us.”

And just like that, Harry knows that it’s over. The moment they’ve both been avoiding has arrived, and he can feel it in every cell of his body.

“Okay,” Harry says quietly, his voice shaking as he swallows hard. “Okay. I understand.”

There’s a finality in Beckett’s sigh, and though Harry feels like he’s been split side open, he also feels like he can finally breathe again, if only for a moment.

“Take care of yourself, Harry,” Beckett says softly, and Harry can hear the sadness, the disappointment in his voice. “I really do care about you.”

“I care about you too,” he whispers. The words feel hollow now, as if they’re already slipping away from him.

The line goes dead with a soft click, and Harry stands there for a long moment, staring at the phone in his hand, unsure of where to go from here.

Harry stands in the middle of the locker room, phone still pressed to his ear, the silence stretching on far too long. The weight of Beckett’s words press down on him and settle like a cold stone in his chest.

I really do care about you. Those words should’ve been comforting, but now they feel like an echo of something already lost. A goodbye without closure, a door closing that Harry hadn’t even realized was slowly creaking shut until it slammed in his face.

Maybe it’s for the better? This is what he wanted, isn’t it?

He wants to scream, to throw something, but all he can do is stand there, staring at the blank screen of his phone. The emptiness around him mirrors the emptiness inside, and for a long moment, it feels like there’s nothing left.

What the hell does he do now?

It’s over. The finality of it hits him all over again, and this time it burns; like acid running through his veins. He’s not sure how much time passes before his phone vibrates in his hand. A text from Zayn lighting up the screen, just as Harry feels the weight of his thoughts threatening to swallow him whole.

‘u good?’

The question is so simple, so blunt. It’s sweet Zayn felt the need to check in on him after what happened this morning. It’s as if he could sense something is still wrong and that Harry is on the edge of something—something that might not be pretty.

He hesitates for a long time, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He could lie, could tell his friend that he’s fine and that everything’s okay, but Harry’s never been good at pretending. Right now, all he can feel is the thudding of his heart, the hollow ache in his chest that says otherwise.

His chest tightens again, the weight of everything crashing down on him like a wave. It’s like he’s carrying too many things at once—his past with Beckett, his unresolved feelings for the relationship that ended, and this bizarre fear of being more than what he’s been so terrified of.

‘it’s over’

Although it’s technically what he wanted the words still feel heavy, like they’re pulling him deeper into something he can’t escape from. He hits send and immediately regrets it, as if putting the truth out there is somehow more painful than just holding it in.

He waits. He stares at the message bubble, watching the little dots appear and disappear as Zayn types out a response. Then, finally:

‘shit mate, im sorry. r u ok?’

Harry can’t stop the laugh that is begging to bubble from his lips. Am I okay? No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not trying to be.

‘idk. idk how to feel rn’

Zayn’s response is quick, the kind of raw honesty that Harry has come to rely on, even if it stings just a little.

‘u don’t have to figure it all out rn. just breathe. u don’t have to have all the answers. you have us, aiden and me. whatever u need’

A pang of guilt shoots through Harry, sharp and sudden. However, the ping of Zayn’s text seems to hang in the air, amplifying the weight of the silence that’s settled over Harry. His phone screen glows back at him, a reminder of how long he’s been staring at it, the words on the screen somehow both a comfort and a sharp reminder of the mess he’s in. Zayn’s text hits Harry harder than expected.

you have us

The words resonate in a place Harry’s been neglecting, buried deep inside him. It’s been so long since he felt part of something steady, something real—aside from the relentless turmoil inside his own head.

He runs his hand through his hair, fingers pressing hard against his scalp. The truth of Zayn’s message stings, but it’s not the kind of sting that cuts; it’s the kind that makes you feel human again, even if you’re not sure what that means right now.

Still, the sense of heaviness lingers, the air thick with everything left unsaid, and the ache in his chest isn’t going away anytime soon. The warmth of those words makes Harry’s throat tighten, and for the first time since the call with Beckett, he feels a flicker of something that’s not just pain—something softer. The feeling of not being alone.

‘yeah i guess…’

It feels like a cop-out, a way to quickly end the conversation without dealing with the truth. He’s not okay, far from it actually and right now he doesn’t know how to fix it. But he can’t tell Zayn that. Not yet at least. Not while the world still feels like it’s in a free fall, and he can’t seem to catch his breath.

Zayn’s next message comes through quickly.

‘oi don’t i guess me’

Harry can’t help but let out a small, dry chuckle at that. He can almost hear Zayn’s voice, that mix of bluntness and care, always cutting through the bullshit.

‘i’ve been in here for so long aiden’s been waiting in the car i should prob go’

The guilt spikes again—familiar, sharp—but it’s different this time. It’s not guilt over something specific he’s done; it’s guilt over not being the kind of friend Zayn deserves. The kind of person anyone could rely on. The thought of leaving Zayn hanging, of not being able to show up for him in the way he needs, gnaws at him.

He stares at the words for a moment, his finger hovering over the send button. Before he can second-guess himself, he hits send. The message is final, like a door closing, and for a second, Harry thinks he might feel something, but he doesn’t.

He feels… numb. He feels like he’s about to break, like he’s about to call Zayn and just spill everything—his fear, his confusion, the crushing weight of loss that he hasn’t been able to shake. The way that he thought he was ready to move on, to let someone else in, only to realize he’s still holding onto the wreckage of something that wasn’t even meant to last.

But Harry can’t. Not yet. Not when he’s still unsure of everything he feels. Not when the truth of what he really wants—what he’s scared to admit even to himself—is still locked in some dark corner of his heart.

Instead, he runs his hand over his face and closes his eyes, feeling the weight of everything settle on him once more. This isn’t the end of anything. It’s just the beginning of something else he’s not sure he’s ready to face.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, leaning against the cold locker room wall, his phone still clutched in his hand. The world outside feels so far away, like a different reality entirely. The noise of his phone vibrating again cuts through the stillness, and he picks it up, fingers trembling.

Zayn’s text is a little less certain this time.

‘just breathe mate. we’re here’

Harry inhales shakily, his breath catching in his throat. He holds it for a long moment, as if trying to gather the pieces of himself back together, but when he exhales, the weight doesn’t quite lift. It’s still there, suffocating, a reminder that things aren’t as simple as they seem.

He replies with the most honest thing he can muster.

‘i know. thanks z’

There’s no more from Zayn for a while. The silence stretches, but it’s different now, not quite as oppressive. At least Harry doesn’t feel so utterly alone in it.

Eventually, he pockets his phone and takes a deep breath. He knows he can’t keep avoiding things—can’t keep letting the past dictate his every move. But for now, he just needs a moment. Just a moment to breathe. To figure out what the hell comes next.

He steps out of the locker room, squinting at the harsh light, feeling the weight of the world still pressing down on him. Beckett is gone and the doors have closed, but Harry isn’t sure if it’s the end he’s been dreading or the beginning of something new. Either way, it’s his next step and that—whatever it is—has to be enough for now.

Harry’s footsteps echo as he walks out of the locker room, the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead the only sound to fill the otherwise empty hallway. He’s still holding his phone tightly, but the screen is dark now. The conversation with Zayn lingering in his chest like a dull ache. The hallway stretches before him, cold and sterile, like the beginning of a long road he still doesn’t know how to navigate. He’s walking, but his mind feels like it’s standing still.

When Harry reaches the exit, he blinks against the evening light that pours in through the doors. The world seems too loud now, like the weight of everything is crashing down on him at once, and yet there’s something almost comforting about it. He knows he’s not the only one feeling overwhelmed tonight, even if it’s hard to admit.

Aiden is waiting by the car, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The moment Harry comes into view, Aiden’s eyes flicker over him with that familiar concern, the one that’s always there even when Harry’s not ready for it.

It’s been less than an hour since he got off the phone with Beckett, but to Harry, it feels like days have passed. He’s had a day. Too much. His chest is tight, his mind is racing, and the last thing he feels like doing right now is talking. But the look on Aiden’s face pulls him in, and for a second, he wishes that he could find the words to make it all go away. To make sense of the mess inside of his head. But he doesn’t have them. Not yet anyway.

“Hey,” Aiden says quietly as Harry approaches, his voice low but steady. He doesn’t push for more, doesn’t ask what’s wrong, but Harry can hear the weight of it in his tone. Like he’s waiting for something, waiting for Harry to speak up.

Harry nods, sliding into the passenger seat without a word. He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating—why it feels so hard to just let himself be vulnerable for once. But the car is warm, the hum of the engine beneath him grounding him in a way he didn't know he needed.

Aiden closes the door behind him, the car’s interior enveloping them in a quiet that somehow feels both familiar and foreign. He doesn't peel out of the parking lot immediately, just sits there for a few seconds, his fingers drumming lightly on the wheel. Harry watches him, feeling the heat of the moment pulling at him, the space between them heavy and thick.

“I take it things didn’t go well?” Aiden finally asks, not in a probing way, but with an understanding that only comes from knowing someone as well as he knows Harry. There’s no judgment in his voice, just the quiet knowledge that something is off.

Harry shifts in his seat, staring out the window, the streetlights casting streaks of orange and yellow across the glass. He doesn't want to talk about it, not yet, not when everything feels so raw. But the longer he stays silent, the heavier the weight becomes, so he exhales deeply and turns to face Aiden. His voice is tight, still caught somewhere between anger and confusion.

“Yeah,” he mutters, the word coming out flat. “It’s over. Beckett and me, I mean. But I’m sure you gathered that by now.”

Aiden’s head tilts slightly, and he shifts the car into gear, pulling away from the curb with a slow, steady motion. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he admits. Aiden's gaze flicks over to Harry, but it’s brief, not wanting to pressure him for details, yet clearly wanting to understand. “What happened?”

The question is simple enough, but it feels like a mountain to Harry. He doesn’t know how to explain. Doesn’t know how to untangle all the knots inside his chest. Instead, he shrugs, trying to play it off, though he knows it doesn’t fool Aiden. Nothing ever does.

“I don’t know. I thought I was ready,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t. Not really. It’s just… I didn’t want it to be like this. I didn’t want to hurt him.”

Aiden lets the silence stretch between them for a few moments, the sound of the tires on the road a steady rhythm, almost soothing in its constancy. “You don’t have to be ready for everything, you know. Sometimes it takes time to get there, and sometimes… well it’s okay if it doesn’t work out the way you thought it would.”

Harry turns his head to look out the window again, watching the world blur by as Aiden drives them through the streets. He knows Aiden’s trying to make him feel better—hell, Harry knows that Aiden probably thinks he’s been down this road before, has the answers, knows exactly what to say to fix things. But Harry doesn’t want fixing. Not yet. He just wants to breathe, wants to escape this overwhelming flood of thoughts and feelings and regrets that keeps pushing him under.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” Harry admits, his voice shaky. “I keep making the same mistakes, Aiden. And I can’t keep running from everything.”

Aiden glances at him again, the look soft but unwavering. He doesn't rush to respond, letting Harry process in his own time. “No one expects you to have it all figured out, mate. It’s okay to not know. It’s okay to take your time.”

“I don’t even know what I want,” Harry admits, his heart aching as the words leave his mouth. “I don’t even know if I can have that kind of thing again. You know? Like... I don’t know how to let someone in. Not after everything.”

The weight of those words hangs in the air, thick and undeniable. Aiden doesn’t say anything right away, but the silence is no longer uncomfortable. It feels like space—space for Harry to breathe, to sit with the mess without needing to fix it, without needing to apologize for it.

“I know,” Aiden says quietly, his voice a soft rumble in the dark. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got people who care about you. You’ve got me. And Zayn. Hell, you’ve got me, even if I’m a bit of a mess too.” He lets out a small laugh, the kind of easy humor that doesn’t ask anything of Harry, but offers him something to hold onto.

Harry finally looks over at Aiden, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though it’s more out of gratitude than amusement. The warmth of Aiden’s words settles over him, and for a fleeting second, Harry wonders if maybe this is the kind of thing he’s been missing. A connection that doesn’t demand answers, that doesn’t pressure him to be something he’s not.

“Thanks,” Harry murmurs, his voice small, but real.

Aiden glances at him again, and this time his smile is soft, unburdened. “Anytime, mate. Let’s just get you home. You can think about all this shit when you’re not in the car.”

The rest of the drive is quiet, the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the car’s suspension the only sounds. Harry’s thoughts drift in and out, the night air pressing against the windows, the coolness of it reminding him that things don’t always have to be so intense, that it’s okay to take things one step at a time. Even if he doesn’t know where those steps are leading him.

When they pull up to the flat, Aiden parks the car without a word, but Harry doesn’t immediately get out. He just sits there for a second, his hands resting on his knees, his mind still spinning but his body finally starting to relax.

“You’re not alone in this, okay?” Aiden says again, his voice low and steady, like a grounding force. “Whatever you need, I’ve got you. Zayn and I both do. We love you, H, we're always here for you." 

Harry meets his gaze, and this time, there’s something in his chest that flickers—a warmth that’s been buried beneath all the chaos. “Yeah. I know.”

He finally opens the door, stepping out of the car into the cool night air. As he follows Aiden up the stairs to their flat, he’s not sure what the future holds. But for the first time in a long time, he feels like maybe he doesn’t have to face it alone.

Walking inside the warm entryway, the door closes behind Harry with a soft click, the sound resonating in the small space as they both take a moment to breathe. It’s still early in the evening, but everything feels heavier now. The air between them is thick with everything unsaid, yet somehow lighter too.

Aiden moves toward the kitchen, pulling out a couple of beers from the fridge and tossing one towards Harry, who catches it absentmindedly. Neither of them speak for a while, the only sound being the low hum of the fridge and the faint music coming from Aiden’s speaker. Harry sinks down onto the sofa, the weight of his body settling into the cushions, but his mind is still miles away.

The blonde takes a seat next to him, his presence calm, unhurried. He doesn’t rush Harry to speak, but his eyes never leave him. It’s the quiet kind of support that Harry’s not sure he deserves.

“You know,” Aiden starts after a beat, his voice a touch more gentle than usual, “you’re not the only one who’s been here. With the whole running thing.”

Harry tilts his head slightly to look at him, brows furrowed. Aiden continues, his gaze flicking to the beer in his hands, as if weighing his words.

“I get it. Hell, I’ve been the same way. The whole ‘I’m not ready’ thing. And yeah, it’s easier to just keep running, keep it simple, keep it safe.” He turns to Harry, his tone more serious now. “But you know what? Sometimes, in the middle of all that running, you start to realize you’re only running from yourself. From what you’re afraid to feel. What you’re afraid to lose.”

Harry stays silent, unsure how to respond to the vulnerability in Aiden’s voice. He wasn’t expecting that.

“So,” Aiden says with a slight shrug, “I’m not gonna push you. But I am gonna tell you this: it’s okay to not have it all figured out. But you’re gonna have to let yourself feel it at some point. Otherwise, you’ll keep holding onto all that shit until it suffocates you.”

The words sink into Harry’s chest, but for a moment, they just float there—too raw to digest, too heavy to fully embrace. He takes a long drink from his beer, the coolness of it settling in his stomach but doing little to quell the unease still simmering beneath the surface.

Aiden seems content to let the silence stretch out. Eventually, Harry feels the weight of the conversation settling over him.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Harry admits, his voice quieter than he intended. He glances over at Aiden, trying to read his face. “I don’t know how to stop running.”

Aiden offers a small, understanding smile, clapping him on the shoulder. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. Just take it one step at a time.”

After a long silence, Harry sets his beer down on the coffee table and rubs his hands over his face, exhaling a long breath.

“I never told you about him,” Harry says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “Not really anyway…”

Aiden glances up from his phone, surprised. “Who?”

Harry hesitates, unsure of how much to say, but something about Aiden’s quiet attention makes him feel like he can open up. It’s not that he’s never told anyone before—he has—but he’s never let himself be this honest about it.

“Louis,” Harry says, his voice barely above a whisper yet it still breaks. “My ex… The one I told you about, the one that ended badly.”

Aiden shifts, leaning in slightly, giving Harry his undivided attention.

“I didn’t just lose him, Aiden,” Harry says, his chest tightening. “I… I lost everything. When we ended, it wasn’t just him. It was everything I thought I knew about myself. Everything I thought I was capable of. I don’t know how to go back there, to that place where I trusted someone fully again. Not after how that went.”

The blonde says nothing at first, just waits. He reaches over to grab Harry’s beer, offering it back to him without a word. Harry takes it, his hand shaky as he accepts the drink.

“You don’t have to do it all at once,” Aiden finally says, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to make it about anyone else. Just about you. What do you want?”

The question hangs between them, and for the first time in a while, Harry wonders if maybe that’s what he’s been avoiding all along: thinking about what he needs.

Minutes pass, the boys sitting in comfortable silence, Aiden giving Harry all of the time he needs to work through everything. The lights dim and soft around them. The green-eyed boy staring at the wall ahead of him, a million thoughts swirling through his head, but the noise of it all has faded into something quieter, more bearable.

The room feels strangely intimate in its quiet. It’s like the air has thickened, settled into a pause that neither of them is quite ready to break. Harry’s mind spins, still tangled in the weight of everything—Beckett, Louis, his own damn self-doubt—and yet, for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel like he’s standing at the edge of something he can’t face. There’s a kind of peace in the space Aiden gives him, like he’s not just offering silence but space for Harry to breathe in between the words he’s still struggling to say.

He turns his beer in his hand, watching the condensation bead down the sides, as if it could somehow make the question Aiden asked less loaded. What do you want? It’s the kind of question Harry’s been avoiding for so long, because to answer it means facing everything he’s been avoiding for so long, because to answer it means facing everything he’s been running from: his own insecurities, his unresolved feelings for people he thought he had to leave behind, and the fear that if he’s honest with himself, he might not be the person he wants to be.

“I don’t know,” he says after a long moment, his voice quieter than usual. The admission feels both like a relief and a disappointment. “I don’t know what I want anymore. I thought I did… but it’s like everything is just… blurry now.”

Aiden doesn’t speak right away. He doesn’t need to. The way he sits there, leaning back into the sofa, eyes steady and calm, tells Harry everything. He doesn’t need to have all the answers, doesn’t need to be perfect. You’re allowed to not know, Aiden’s presence says.

And for once, Harry believes it.

“I get that,” Aiden says softly. “The thing is… I think sometimes, you have to stop trying to have everything figured out and just let things unfold. It’s not easy, but… you’ll get there.”

Harry takes a deep breath, his eyes flickering back to the beer in his hand. He feels something tighten in his chest—the knot in your stomach, the one that’s been there since the final conversation with Beckett, but it’s different now. A little less suffocating. His emotions don't’ feel as sharp, more like a dull ache, something to sit with. He’s still so tangled, but he’s not standing in the middle of the wreckage alone anymore.

“I think I’ve been afraid of feeling too much,” Harry admits, his voice breaking a little on the last word. “Because every time I let myself feel too much, I... I fall apart.”

Aiden nods slowly, the understanding in his gaze only deepening. “Yeah. I get that too.” He chuckles softly, as if to lighten the mood, but there’s no joking in his eyes. “You’ve been keeping yourself together, Harry. But you’ve gotta let yourself break sometimes. Not for anyone else—just for you. You don’t need to keep it all locked up.”

Harry rubs his hand over his face, trying to keep the tears back. He’s not sure if he wants to let himself cry—does he want that release right now?—but the feeling is thick in his throat. He swallows it back, feeling it all press down again.

“I don’t know if I can,” he says softly. The words feel fragile, almost like a confession.

“You can,” Aiden says simply. “You don’t have to do it perfectly. You just have to do it. Start small.”

Harry’s not sure if Aiden’s talking about emotions or life in general, but somehow, it feels like both. He’s always expected himself to figure things out fast, to find the answers, the next step, the right thing to do. But maybe it’s okay to just take a step, however small. Maybe it’s okay to just breathe.

He exhales deeply and takes another sip of his beer, the cold liquid grounding him for a moment.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about everything just yet,” Harry says, his voice quieter now, the words barely a whisper. “But I’m... getting there.”

Aiden gives a small, understanding smile. “No rush. Take your time.” He nudges Harry’s leg with his own, just enough to show he’s still there, still present, without forcing him to open up more than he’s ready for.

Harry nods, feeling a little lighter, the air in the room somehow warmer. There’s a quiet comfort in knowing that someone, at least one person, isn’t expecting him to be anything other than himself. Whatever that means right now.

The night stretches on. The minutes pass, slow but steady, until the silence isn’t heavy anymore. Harry lets himself just be—without expectation, without pressure. The truth is, he doesn’t know what comes next. He doesn’t know where he’s going. But as he sits here with Aiden, with the warmth of his beer and the hum of the flat around him, he realizes that maybe it’s okay to not have all the answers. Maybe, for the first time in a long while, that’s enough.