I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts)

Chapter 8

After game weekend everything started to appear rather dull to Louis. Which, upon further consideration, might be a blessing in disguise, because Louis would take numbness and indifference over hurt feelings and longing for someone he can't have any day!

He was maybe exaggerating, too, because what he was now calling dull had actually been his normal every day life just a week ago. The only thing that had changed was Louis' perspective on things. His perspective on Harry, in particular.

It wasn't like Louis had held high expectations for anything to happen between the both of them, couldn't even imagine what that would be like, anyway. Still, now that there had been that spark, that moment between them, Louis found it hard to just go back to ignoring Harry. Where previously he could guard himself simply by remembering the revulsion and disgust he felt at Harry's behaviour and attitude, now it was like all the disdain he held for Harry had vanished into thin air and Louis was left with an altered, almost unbefitting image of the team captain. It was like he could only see the positive things, no matter what.

And that was honestly ridiculous, because if one thing had stayed the same for certain it was Harry's arrogance and despicableness that showed every time he and Louis were encountering one another. If Louis had thought that, even if Harry didn't feel even to some extent what Louis began to feel for him, Harry would at least manage to be a better person, civil, when speaking with Louis, it was in vain. Truthfully, those wishes had been shattered on the pitch in Oxford already and, rather unsurprisingly, nothing had changed back in Manchester. Harry was happily ignoring Louis completely and if he was, in the rarest cases, forced to pay attention to him anyway, he did so with the utmost boredom and coldness, not trying to hide the displeasure from showing on his face even for a second.

If Louis' heart hurt a little more whenever Harry's blank, unfeeling stare was directed his way then no one had to know, though!

Luckily, their newest feud didn't really interfere with practice — especially since the team was mixed up again, players put into different combinations for every practice game they were doing now so that the Coach could check out his favourites for the next game, which was fast approaching. It was at least something Louis could put his focus to. And maybe the distance from Harry would help him to get his clearly confused heart back in line as well.

And so they continued. As if nothing ever happened. If Harry had his way, that surely was what he would claim anyway: that nothing ever happened between the two of them that one and only night in Oxford. Nothing happened.

It was a lot harder for Louis to accept that.

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To add to Louis' subdued mood he realised a week after the first game that his next heat was coming up. His suppressants left him on a three-month-cycle, but as far as Louis was concerned once a year would do, too. Or never, for that matter. He couldn't do much to change the inevitable, of course, and so spent half his Saturday planning around the three to four days he would have to spent locked into his rooms, indisposed, with scent neutralisers clouding the air so that none of his dorm mates would notice anything unusual going on. At least it would be the last heat of this year, so there was that.

He decided, with his forehead in crinkles and while biting the top of his pencil, to fake a stomach bug, which was his go-to excuse. Since he hadn't had to use it yet in university it was inconspicuous enough and made for the perfect illness that would get people to stay away — nobody enjoyed the company of someone puking their guts out, especially if there was a high risk of infection, as it was pretty standard with these kind of sicknesses.

Scribbling down his notes Louis was remembered how much work it actually was to plan out those stupid fucking heats. He had to think of everything in advance, because the smallest misstep could cost him everything. And with everything he literally meant everything. He had to check on his supplies of lube, scent neutralisers and condoms, had to look if he had brought his vibrator and butt plug from back home, which he fervently hoped, because he would rather shoot himself in the face than go out to buy substitutes in town and there certainly wasn't time to risk an online order. He had to put out a ton of easily accessible food, nothing in need of being cooked or heated, and lots and lots of fluids in reaching distance.