Harry had just turned eighteen when he became one hundred per cent certain that he was gay. Of course, by then he had known for a long time that he was into guys, but he wasn't sure whether he felt the same about women.
When he moved to Doncaster, he made friends with Zayn. They were only pre-teens and everything felt so simple. Zayn had crushes on girls and Harry pretended he had crushes on them, too. They would make agreements on which ones they were each allowed to ask out and hold hands with. Then, they got older and started ninth grade, and Harry saw Louis.
Zayn had a girlfriend since the year before called Joanna, and while Zayn was certain he loved her, Harry didn't pretend there was anyone that he wanted. Instead, over those first months of school, he admitted to himself that he liked to imagine what it'd be like to touch a boy.
Around Christmas, during that freshman year, he became friends with Jasmine. She went to his English class, was always friendly, and had a sense of humour he admired. Her hair was long and dark, in a short fringe at the time, and her lips were always glistening in some kind of berry flavoured gloss. She had two sisters. One older, Camila, and one younger, Eliza. They were sweet girls, and often spent time with Jasmine and Harry at her house. She had a lot of friends. They were mostly girls, and because Harry liked to hang out with Jasmine, he made a lot of female friends. Zayn was still his best mate, but most of the time Harry found himself sitting with Jasmine at their shared classes and lunch breaks.
By sophomore year, Harry knew he liked to picture men when he jerked off. He'd close his eyes and think of muscular chests and shoulders, firm hands, and toned stomachs. At the same time, he had no idea that Jasmine had been falling in love with him. He had no idea that when she romanticised her life, she pictured him with her. He didn't know that when they hung out alone, what she really wanted was to kiss him. When she touched his curls, it wasn't platonic, and when she smiled at him with warmth, it wasn't because he'd said something amusing, but because she was in love.
In late January, they'd gone to a party. Harry had spent all night with Zayn, getting drunk on beers they'd asked someone outside the large Sainsbury's to buy them. When they showed up at their friend's house, they were already inebriated. The house was full of people, music was blasting, and one bathroom down a hallway had such a long queue that it could only mean drugs were on the counter. An hour after arriving, Harry was worse off than when they'd left Zayn's place. The older boys from the football team had urged the younger players to shot after shot, and leaving the sitting room where they'd been huddled, Harry stumbled on his feet. He was headed for the front door, looking for Jasmine's jacket. She'd been cold and had wanted her cigarettes. He'd offered to get them for her.
In the hallway, he met Louis Tomlinson.
His hair was shorter at that time. He wasn't as muscular, either, but his eyes were blue, of course, and that fringe of his still managed to brush into his eyes just like it did a year and a half later.
Harry was drunk that night. Louis was drunk that night.
"Oi," Louis had called out. "Don't look at me like that, Styles."
"I wasn't looking at you."
"Yes, you were."
"No, I wasn't."
He raised a brow.
Okay. He had been. Because Louis was shirtless, and a guy. Fit. Really fucking fit, despite how much Harry hated him.
Louis' jeans were black and tight, and the lining of his boxer briefs could be seen just above the top button. He was leaning against the wall, perhaps waiting for the bathroom to clear out. He gazed at Harry, eyes following his every movement.
