I'm In Love With The Brown-Haired Boy//L.S//

Chapter Ten

Friday finally rolls around, and I'm at cheer practice before the game. I didn't go to practice at all this week because Gigi insisted I take time off for myself. I'm back now, though, because as much as I liked the break, I need this practice to prepare for the game.

I can see Harry on the field practicing, and it reminds me of when I used to watch him during practices and games. I miss that. Now, I can't even look at him.

I took Gigi's advice, and I plan on trying to apologize to Harry after the game. I don't know exactly what I'm going to say, but I've been running through some lines in my head, trying to figure it out. I've got something along the lines of, Sorry for kissing you, it was a mistake, and it was just the alcohol. I mean, it's the truth. I think.

The good news is that, at the start of practice, Harry didn't come over to make out with Eleanor in front of everyone—which is a first.

Before the game, the team heads back to the lockers to take a break. I don't go because I just can't face Harry yet.

Instead, I stay on the field, sitting on the edge of the bleachers. The cool breeze is a small comfort, but my nerves feel like they're in overdrive. I try to focus on the rhythm of the team warming up in the distance, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Harry—and Eleanor.

What am I even doing? Apologizing feels like the right thing to do, but what if it only makes things worse? What if he doesn't forgive me, or worse—what if he does, and things just go back to normal? The thought of pretending nothing happened is almost as unbearable as the silence between us now.

I rest my chin in my hands, staring out at the field. Harry's out there, laughing with the team like nothing's wrong. He looks so... Harry. Confident, steady, perfect. And me? I'm just a mess. A complete disaster waiting to crumble.

"Hey, you good?" Gigi's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. I hadn't even noticed her walk up behind me.

"Yeah, just needed some air," I say quickly, forcing a smile that I know she doesn't buy.

"You've been in your head all week," she says, sitting down next to me. "Don't overthink it, Louis. Just talk to him. Say what you need to say and let the rest fall into place."

I let out a shaky breath. "Easier said than done."

"It always is," she agrees. "But avoiding him isn't doing you any favors. You're torturing yourself."

"I know." I pick at the hem of my uniform, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "I just—what if I ruin everything? What if he hates me?"

Gigi nudges my shoulder gently. "He doesn't hate you. And if he does, then he's not worth the stress you're putting yourself through."

I nod, though her words don't ease the knot in my chest. "I'll try."

"That's all you can do," she says, standing up and brushing off her skirt.

The plan is simple: survive the game, find Harry, apologize, and hope for the best.

***

It's halftime, and we're about to perform our routine in front of the crowd. I'm trying my best to stay focused, but my mind keeps wandering off to Harry.

When he ran off the field with the team back to the locker rooms, we made eye contact for a brief second. He was looking in my direction, and then—boom—it just happened. My heart stopped, and I could feel my face flush. It was the first time we'd made eye contact since the incident.

We take the field and get in position to begin our routine.

The music starts, and I force myself to focus. The crowd's cheers and the sound of the music pulse through the air, but my movements feel robotic, like I'm going through the motions without actually being present. I can hear Gigi shouting cues over the noise, her energy carrying the routine forward.