The Beautiful Game (Larry)

Part Eight

I'm gonna watch you drink it all

I'm gonna watch you fall

You'll find me by your side

If you find me at all

The moment I left the apartment block I regretted it. It was like Jesus' bladder had broke. My hair was plastered to my skull like a helmet and my white t-shirt quickly became transparent.

I stomped into the carpark, miserable that I'd have to cycle home in the rain. I found my bike tied to a lamppost and hooking my thumb through my belt loop, I crouched down to unlock it.

The rain still wasn't letting up and by this stage I looked like I went for a swim in the Pacific. My eyes drifted up to Harrys appartment. He'd really helped me out and I hadn't even said thanks. I'll make it up to him though, but first I have to talk to Stan.

I patted down my trousers, searching for my phone. I found it in my pocket and fished it out, almost dropping it. My fingers slipped and slid on the wet touchscreen and I quickly wiped it with the waistband of my boxers, the only dry clothes I had on.

I sent Stan a text saying we had to talk and I could only imagine how he'd react to that. He's probably breaking out the six-pack as we speak.

I took off the clunky lock and stuffed it into my pocket. With one last look at Harrys appartment, I jumped up onto the saddle.

....

Red and purple don't really go.

I sat staring at my wardrobe like I'd never wore clothes before. I'd finally got around to washing my laundry so I had plenty to choose from. Choice wasn't the problem, uncertainty was.

I had no idea what to wear. This was an important meeting with Stan not a gaming session, so I couldn't swan in in a tracksuit and trainers. But we're not discussing taxes either, so a suit and glasses is hardly appropriate. This should be easy, we're friends after all, or at least we're supposed to be.

I bet Harry could do this in a blink of an eye. Harry..... he'd know what to do.

I picked up my wet trousers like they were a rotting carcass. They'd already left a small puddle on the carpet. I tugged my phone out of the pocket, groaning at the wet denim. I'd have to wash these now too.

I quickly called Harry without a second thought. He picked up on the first ring. His voice was smooth and soft.

'' 'Ello, Lou?''

"'Er... hi, Haz. I really need your h-''

''What is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt?!''

''No, no Haz. I....er.... I need your help with something.''

''I'll come over.''

''No, no! It's...er... my outfit.'' I said, blushing a raspberry pink.

''Sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to Gok Wan.''

''Harry.... I just don't know what to wear to meet Stan and it's so important and I'm so worried and I don't know, what if-''

''Hey, hey. Lou, it's okay, you're okay. How about just your training gear or a tee and tracks?''

''Mate, we're not going for a trek through the woods.''

Harrys laughter came through in static bursts, but it still made me smile.

''Alright, alright,'' he breathed. ''You could always go for the laid back suit and brogues option...''

''Hello, Lord Sugar? Where's Harry?''

You could hear the grin on Harry's face.

''Now, this is risky, could end horribly. It's practically unheard of but... wait for it... how about you.. just be you.''

''Harry..''

''Shit I said it.''

''Harry...''

''There's no going back now.''

''Harry!''

''Yes dearest?''

''Thank you. A lot.''

I shifted on the edge of the bed, swinging my feet as I waited for a reply.

''Anytime Lou, it's my pleasure. Lou...''

''Yeah?''

''I could.. er... take you for a drink after, if you like... as friends, you know, pally-pally. If you want, bro.. dude... man...''

''Harry?''

''Y-yeah?''

''I'd like that.''

....

The weather never seemed to match my mood. I could be bursting with joy and it'd be pissing rain. Or I could be as down in the dumps as possible and the sun will have decided to flaunt itself all over the place.

Right now, you could practically see the sun's smug grin.

Stan hadn't noticed. He'd counted the number of coasters on the table (twelve, by the way). He'd listed every ingredient in all five of his cans of beer and how many colours were involved in the manufacturers logo, but he hadn't noticed the weather, or me, or the hour long conversation we'd just had. He hadn't noticed because he didn't want to.

I shifted in the creaky wooden chair, wincing at Stans poignant expression. I decided to break the silence, carefully, so carefully it barely left a crack.

''So....''

Well, that'd failed miserably.

Stan started humming lowly, stroking his beer can. God I was tempted to drag it from his hands and pour it all over him, that dumb, idiotic...

''Louis.''

Oh, the mute now speaks. ''Stan.''

''D'you hate me?''

''Do you want me to?''

''No.''

''Good, because I don't. I don't understand you, that's all.''

''That's worse.''

''How? How is that worse?!''

''Because you're meant to.''