Here In The Afterglow

Chapter 2.1

Spring carries on in a flurry of bright pine needles and little daisies, pink and white and yellow, littering the grass. When the clouds roll over the hills they're soft and white, and they travel leisurely with little persistence, stark against the blue sky.

It's bright, swishing florals and roller-skates, pops of absurd colors and cars hosed down in front yards. It's Elvis Costello's latest album on repeat, it's Hot Tuna and Bob Marley and Wings on the radio. The sun rises blinding and sharp, turning the purple haze into warm peach and gold.

It's Liam trying to teach Louis to skateboard on some rickety old thing that he dug up from God knows where, asphalt stinging their hands and black scuffs on their shoes, hearts beating hard in their chests as they fly down the roads and push their feet against the pavement. It's Louis slowly trying to dissociate his bitterness for him for things he's said in the past, that he sometimes still says.

It's Harry and Louis spending almost every afternoon together, dancing to Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac with not a care, pretending they're on a stage, that they're untouchable and that all the flashing lights are just twinkling stars. It's Harry and Louis pressed close under the covers of Louis' bed, books discarded in favor of putting their hands on each other, so intoxicating and new.

The soccer pitch is a vibrant green, fresh white paint, bright and matching their shorts as they run back and forth, the crowds cheering in the stands as they beat the away team. Louis finds himself slowly detaching from those boys, glad to be away from Jimmy and Ben, particularly. Stan is still acting hostile in the most subtle of ways, and Louis tries to keep good ground between them for Liam's sake.

It proves difficult a lot of the time.

"Woah! Woah, woah, hold up!"

It's a Monday night, and they've just finished up practice. Louis is fresh out of the shower, standing by his locker and half dressed. He's just about to pull his shirt over his head when Stan shoves him abruptly, a giant smile on his face.

At first, Louis' entire body goes into panic, ready to push him back. When he sees Stan's face, the amusement in his eyes, he settles.

"What have we got here?" Stan crows. The other boys are watching now, peering at them curiously. "You been going around without telling us, Lou?"

He prods at the marks on Louis' chest, purple and fresh and sensitive. Louis turns away and tugs his shirt over his head sharply, skin hot. The boys are all hooting, whistling and begging him to spill.

"It's none of your business," he says to Stan, trying to make his voice light, trying to make it sound like a joke. In reality, he can feel hot panic seeping through him. He needs to be more careful.

"Who's the girl, then?" Jimmy raises his eyebrows and grins, sickly.

Louis turns away and starts packing his things into his bag.

"Oh, come on," Stan pleads. "You gotta give us some details."

"She good at, y'know," Jimmy makes a crude gesture, poking his tongue into his cheek. The boys all erupt into raucous laughter, and Louis' stomach quivers. He pretends to laugh it off, shoves Stan away playfully, when really, he wants him out of his space.

"You're tripping if you think I'm gonna tell you anything, man," Louis zips up his bag sharply.

"I've seen you getting those notes in your locker," Stan says, and Louis feels like he's going to be sick. He feels caught out, with so many eyes on him, curious and prying. At his expression, Stan lets out another laugh, mistaking his fear. "Aw, look, you're proper hung up on her, aren't you?"