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YouTube you can find dubstep remixes for pretty much anything.”

“You know what I mean,” Harry says, laughing. “Don‟t try to get out

of this on a technicality.”

“I just don‟t see anything wrong with a bit of pop, sue me,” Louis says.

He also doesn‟t get the appeal of listening to what sounds like several

men and possibly a goat weeping into their beards, accompanied by

ukelele.

“Me neither!” Harry protests. “It‟s just that your opinions on pop are

also terrible. Katy Perry over Beyonce, Lou? Really? Are you even

human?”

That starts an argument that lasts the rest of Louis‟ free period and

continues for days. Louis eventually admits defeat, but that only makes

Harry more eager to “educate” him. After that, Harry starts bringing in

a flash drive full of new music for Louis almost every day. Louis just

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thanks him and tries not to think about what Harry could have intended

when he said they would go to festivals together. That‟s a thing friends

do, right? And they‟re friends now. So if Louis falls asleep listening to

the music Harry‟s given him, he‟s just being a good friend. Doing his

research.

If he‟s honest, he also finds that some of it is so boring that it provides

a welcome cure for his occasional insomnia, but he‟s not going to tell

Harry that.

There‟s one thing he doesn‟t learn about Harry, though, and it‟s starting

to drive him slightly mad. It‟s not like it really matters. It shouldn‟t

matter. But Louis‟ curiosity is killing him. He tries as hard as he can to

figure it out without outright asking, dropping hints and chances for

Harry to comment on things, but it never works. The fact remains:

Harry Styles‟ sexuality is a fucking mystery.

One afternoon over lunch he manages to manipulate the conversation

toward their respective sexual histories, angling it like he‟s joking

around. Zayn is utterly predictable, describing an equal number of men

and women while looking extremely pleased with his own ability to

pull, then adding dramatically that nobody has seemed to measure up

ever since he met Liam. Niall throws a napkin at his face and mentions

his own knack for picking up American girls at pubs, which they all

already knew about, and then Harry starts speaking.

“I dunno,” Harry says, shrugging as he swallows a bite of his sandwich.

Louis tries very, very hard not to appear to be hanging on every word.

“I haven‟t really dated anybody since I turned twenty.”

“But you‟ve slept with people,” Zayn prompts with studied

nonchalance, and Louis can tell by the way he‟s carefully avoiding his

eye that Zayn knows exactly what the point of this conversation is.

Louis honestly forgets sometimes what a good friend Zayn is. He

should buy him a fruit basket one of these days.

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Harry laughs a little. “Yeah, a few people. You know. Casual stuff.

None of them were, like, my soulmate, you know? I mean, I liked them

all, but nothing serious.”

People. Them. God damn Harry and his fucking aversion to gendered

words. Louis is going to shove him into a pit of bears.

He needs to change his approach. If he wants information out of Harry,

maybe he has to give up some of his own. All right. He keeps his eyes

closely trained on Harry‟s face, planning to memorize and analyze any

change in his expression.

“Soulmates don‟t exist, Harold, no matter how many times Zayn‟s

wanked to Liam in the shower, so it‟s not surprising you haven‟t found

yours.” He ignores Zayn‟s affronted shout and continues. “I, like you,

have sought and found comfort in the realm of casual sex, and haven‟t

found a single gentleman worth committing to in years.”

So there it is. Out there. His eyes didn‟t leave Harry‟s face the entire

time he was speaking, and he observed, well, nothing. Not a damn

thing. Not a flicker, not a blink, not a twitchy fucking eyebrow. Either

Harry Styles has the poker face of a boulder or he really just does not

give a shit about who other people fuck. Overall, one of Louis‟ least

traumatic yet most aggravating coming-outs.

“That‟s because you‟re a cynical dick, though,” Niall says.

Louis finally shifts his attention away from Harry to bat his eyelashes

at Niall. “Oh, sweetie, you do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“How are you supposed to know if you like them or not if you don‟t

actually, you know, speak to them? Or know their names?” Zayn says.

“Actually, that would be an improvement at this point, when was the

last time you even got laid?”

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“Ooh, that reminds me, Zayn, how is your father doing?” Louis

simpers, dodging the fork Zayn pegs at him.

All four of them laugh, and conversation meanders away to topics that,

if anyone asks Louis, are far less interesting than figuring out where

Harry puts his dick.

Normally, if a guy were as on board the Zayn and Liam‟s Epic Destiny

train as Harry is, Louis would assume he was at least a little bit gay.

Then again, Harry is a university student—an art student, even, if

photography counts—and who even knows what counts as normal

straight-guy behavior for them? Plus, if he weren‟t straight, why

wouldn‟t he have said something about it when Zayn and Louis did?

Louis resigns himself to ignorance, but that doesn‟t stop him from

keeping a close eye on Harry over the next few days. If he had ten

pence for every guy who‟d played it cool when he first came out only

to avoid him like the plague later, he‟d have at least seventy pence,

which can‟t really buy much but still seems like a lot in context. Three

more and he can buy a soda from the third floor vending machine.

Metaphorically.

But he‟ll be damned if he can spot a single difference in Harry‟s

behavior. He keeps coming around all the time, keeps stealing food off

his plate, keeps exhibiting zero sense of personal space. Louis has no

idea what his angle is, but he‟s going to figure it out eventually. He‟s

dealt with his fair share of charming men in the past, and in his

experience, there are no intentions pure enough that he hasn‟t been able

to find the ulterior motives eventually.

Until then, he guesses he‟ll just enjoy Harry‟s company, biding his time

until he can figure him out. After all, Harry laughs at Louis‟ jokes,

which is more than enough to justify having him around. Plus, if Louis

is being honest, he likes what Harry brings to the lunch group. It had

started to devolve into Zayn and Louis bickering half-heartedly to pass

the time while Niall looked on and contributed the occasional sarcastic

remark, all of them knowing exactly how the other two would react to

everything they did. He and Zayn are both troublemakers in their own

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right, and when they don‟t have something to poke at they turn to each

other for entertainment, trading smart remarks for lack of anything

better to do. Niall would be the target, but he cares so little about what

they say that there‟s no fun in it. They work as a trio, Niall balancing

out Zayn and Louis‟ mania, but it had been getting predictable, their

banter sliding into routine.

Now there‟s a new variable, and Louis is finding he enjoys having

Harry in the mix. He never knows who Harry will side with during his

mock arguments with Zayn, or if he‟ll just play the two of them off

each other for his own amusement, and having Harry around makes

Niall more likely to speak up, too. Suddenly voices fly across the table

in new patterns, laughter ringing with real surprise. Louis hadn‟t

realised that the three of them had been having the same conversations

over and over again until Harry changed the script.

Without even trying, Louis finds himself shifting into a new normal

with Harry as an integral part, and he isn‟t even surprised when he sees

that Harry has left his iPod in Louis‟ room as he packs up to leave on a

Tuesday afternoon. Harry doesn‟t have a classroom of his own; where

would he be leaving his stuff if not Louis‟ room?

He grabs it as he leaves, taking the long way out to the carpark so he

can swing by the pitch and return it before heading home. He‟s silently

pleased that this time, at least, he has a legitimate reason to stop and

talk to Harry, instead of his feet just carrying him that way against his

will. Until now, he‟s always just walked by, maybe giving Harry a brief

wave if he sees him, but there‟s never been any justification to go over

and say hi, and Louis has never really been one for idle small talk.

Apparently he‟s become one for altering his daily routine for the sake

of a wave, though, which doesn‟t really bear thinking about.

He makes his way over and approaches the fence. It‟s the closest he‟s

actually come to the pitch while they‟re practicing, and he finds himself

squinting at the players darting around the field, unsure of where to

look to find Harry.

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“Come on, Richards, I know you‟ve got more than that,” Louis hears

over the noise of practice, and his eyes follow the sound until they land

on Harry.

He‟s running drills. Not just supervising drills like Louis always

assumes he does, but actually running them alongside the boys,

shouting instructions and encouragement as he goes. Louis watches as

he zig-zags in between the flags they‟ve set up, hair falling damp in his

eyes, t-shirt soaked through with sweat. The sunlight is glistening on

his arms. Like, not Mills & Boon glistening. Dirty, rough-and-tumble

sports glistening. Louis was not exactly prepared for this.

When Harry reaches the end of the flags, he looks up and spots Louis.

“Run it again!” he says, and gives a blast on his whistle. The players

take off, and Harry jogs across the pitch. He slows to a stop in front of

the fence and twines his fingers through the chain links.

“What‟s up, Lou?” he says, breathing heavily but grinning through it.

Louis is almost having trouble looking directly at him this close, all

muscle and energy and control. Harry looks like what bodies were

invented for.

It‟s fucking inconsiderate, is what it is.

“You left this in my room. Figured you‟d need it before tomorrow,”

Louis says, slipping the iPod through a gap in the fence. Harry‟s face

lights up when he sees it, and he grabs it happily.

“Oh thank God, thought I‟d lost it,” he says. “I was going to have to

lead a two mile run with no music. I probably would have died, thank

you so much.”

Louis swallows and smiles at Harry as if there is not currently a live-

action film of Harry running in slow motion to the theme from Chariots

of Fire playing in his head. Because that would be crazy.

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“You look good,” he blurts out. “Er—the team, I mean. They seem...

well-conditioned.”

Harry breaks out in a grin and, wow, Louis really needs to get out of

there as quickly as possible. “Thanks! We‟ve been working really

hard.”

“Right, hard. Very hard. Um. Er, well—” Louis starts, preparing to

make an excuse to escape.

“You should come to the match at the end of the week,” Harry

interrupts.

“Oh, uh, yeah, sure, sounds great!” Louis says, because it‟s his best

strategy to get out of there as quickly as possible, and not at all because

he has trouble saying no to dirty boys. Not that Harry is a dirty boy. Oh

God. Abort. Abort. “Right. Anyway. See you tomorrow!” he says with

a slightly manic wave, and then he turns tail and flees.

“See you!” he hears Harry call after him, and his blush doesn‟t fade

until he‟s halfway home.

It‟s been a long day for Zayn already. He‟s an hour in and he hasn‟t

even managed to get a full cup of coffee yet, the first one too weak and