The next few days are a bit awkward, really. It’s the middle of the third week of holidays now and Harry and I don’t really talk. Honestly, I miss fighting with him because this is boring and awkward at the same time.

Since the movie evening with Zayn two or three days passed and in those, we exchanged about two words. I don’t know what it is that makes him go so quiet, but I suppose it is the fact that we fought rather badly last time.

And honestly, I wouldn’t even mind much. This is exactly what I wanted. For him to stay in dad’s office, be quiet, so quiet that I don’t even notice he’s there. It’s just that, well, it had gotten fun, having Harry around. Not only the fights, really. He’s a chill guy, I suppose.

But that doesn’t matter now anyways because Harry is in Dad’s office, probably doing nothing and Zayn is, as always, hanging out with Liam and barely acknowledging my existence. I get it, honestly. First love and all that bullshit, but still it hurts, just a little.

It’s past eight already and I would be heading to bed because I’m so bored if I hadn’t slept half the day already. The amount of boredom I’ve felt during these holidays might be unhealthy, already. Can people die of boredom?

I seriously consider googling that for a moment but that would mean having to move my arm from where it’s currently resting on my tummy and that is too much effort, already.

I keep laying in bed for about three minutes more before I remember I haven’t had dinner yet. It’s not like I’m hungry because I didn’t move a lot today what means that my body needed zero energy, but I get up anyways. At least it means I’ll have something to do for the next few minutes.

I remember there’s still some pasta left from yesterday so I head to the kitchen to heat it up in the microwave. Of course, just then Harry has to come downstairs, not as loudly as I usually stomp down the stairs but definitely not as quiet as Mum. It’s more like a jog, really. It always only takes him a few seconds to get down as well.

“Evening”, Harry says and if he didn’t have that grumpy look on his face he always does when he’s angry, I’d laugh really. Who the fuck says ‘Evening’ as a greeting?

“Yes, hello to you too”, I say, suppressing an amused grin. Harry glares at me sceptically as if I had a genius plan on how to annoy him this evening stored in the back of my mind he was trying to figure out, then heads to the fridge.

It’s quiet while he looks at the few little eatable things still left in the fridge, then he says: “We have to go grocery shopping.” And, a second later, before I can even respond: “Is that my fucking pasta in the microwave?”

I roll my eyes, then nod. “Yes, that is the pasta you cooked for both of us while I tidied up the kitchen yesterday, exactly. Do you mind?”

“I do”, he says, taking a step sideways so that his shoulder bumps into mine. I don’t move, he’s not going to get this stupid pasta. We stay shoulder to shoulder, both staring at the microwave as if it’d explode any second. Harry is annoyingly close to me and he smells like apple and citrus and his shoulder presses stupidly hard against mine.

“Fucking stop that”, I say, scoffing and take a step back, “You’re such a fucking child, aren’t you? Have the goddamn pasta my mum paid for, then.” I bite my lower lip, feeling anger rise in my chest.

“My mum pays your mum for the food and all”, Harry says, slowly and quietly and it scares me a little, to be honest, “So fucking stop trying to judge things you have not a single clue about, Louis.” He spits out the last word as if it was too hotly cooked food. “Honestly. You know nothing.”

“I know nothing? Styles, get the facts straight. You don’t know shit about my life and still you’re in my house, claiming food and rooms and showers as yours and pretending you’re so much better than me.”

“When the fuck did I say I was better than you? But honestly, I am, Louis. I don’t go around judging other people before I even know anything about them. I don’t. You do, though, and that’s exactly what makes you the shit person you are. You’re just no fun. You hurt people on a daily basis and don’t even notice.” His voice raises with every single word he says and I wish so badly for Mum to be home this evening because he certainly wouldn’t shout like that then. She’s out with some friends though.

“Oh”, I make, sounding a lot more hurt than angry what wasn’t supposed to happen. “Oh, that’s what you think?”, I try again, words sharp, “That I am the one hurting you? Well, think about the shit you’ve told me. And then dare say that to me again. I am aware that I don’t know shit about you but honestly? I don’t give a single fuck. Because you’re uninteresting and boring and you suck. I don’t even know how you managed to make friends already.”

I stare at him, his eyes locking with mine, my heavy breathing being the only thing interrupting the silence and for one second, it looks like he’s going to kill me with one of the kitchen knifes. The green in his eyes looks scarily stinging, suddenly.

“Shut up”, is all he forces out, “Honestly. You’re the one who’s best friend chooses a guy he’s fucking over you constantly. It’s not like you know shit about real friendships.” He glares at me, eyebrows furrowed together, his right hand balling to a fist every now and then.

“Don’t talk about Zayn like that. You have no right to constantly talk about people I love like that. I don’t fucking judge your mum constantly because she’s incapable of caring for a seventeen year old, do I?”

“Stop”, Harry says, chewing on his cheek, “No, Louis, you’re taking it too far. I fucking mean it when I say don’t ever say a single word about my mum again or I’ll fucking kill you.” He walks out of the kitchen, not slamming the door once again, but only about half a second later, the front door is slammed hardly and then he’s gone.

I feel like he really meant the killing part. Like, shit, he was really fucking angry and probably, with reason. I did take it too far, didn’t I? I’m angry about him judging Zayn and the next second, I talk badly about his mum.

But then again, he started. Just because I took the left over pasta. It’s not like he ate the leftovers often already. I even heated him up some chips when he looked like he was gonna die of exhaustion. And then he reacts like this? It’s not my fault.

I keep repeating that it’s not my fault over and over until it’s like a mantra, playing in the back of my head. When I’ve eaten the first two spoons of the pasta that doesn’t even taste good and certainly wasn’t worth fighting over, I feel like maybe, I should look after Harry.

It’s dark outside by now and I have no idea how well he knows the town. And when Mum gets home and I have to explain why Harry is gone, she will certainly be angry with me.

I get up from my chair, sighing. I leave the pasta behind, slip into old trainers and an adidas jacket, then leave the house, luckily remembering to pack a key before pulling the door shut behind me and stepping out into the dark.

I have no idea where Harry could be. Like, theoretically, he’s taken the bus and is on his way to Texas, or something. Very theoretically. It’s a bit more likely that he’s somewhere close. It’s been, what, ten minutes since he left? He can’t have gotten too far.

I feel ridiculous. Why the fuck am I even looking for him? He’s seventeen and he’s capable of taking care of himself. Then again, he looked hurt when he left. And I was the reason for that. It’s at least partly my fault and I feel responsible, now.

It’s not all that difficult to find him, after all. He’s sitting on a bench a bit further, right in front of the small corner shop that’s opened all the time. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest and his head resting against the wall behind him.

He looks small and hurt and a wave of sorrow washes over me. I swallow thickly, then walk over, slowly. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all? Why would he even want me to be here? I should just leave, now that I know he’s not on a plane to Texas.

The moment I want to turn around, Harry looks up. I’m not sure if he cried but he certainly doesn’t look happy. He raises his eyebrows in surprise, green eyes opened wide so that he looks a bit like a deer, running in front of a car at night.

“Hi, erm, yeah”, I start, looking at the floor right at Harry’s feet, “So, um, just wanted to see if you’re okay, I guess. Not on a plane to Texas or kidnapped or something.” I shift awkwardly, then look up slowly.

There’s something like a smile forming on his lips, I suppose. He at least doesn’t look like he’s going to stab a knife into my chest any second. His expressions soften and he shakes his head, slowly, a curl falling into his forehead.

“No plane to Texas.” He’s properly smiling now, a sad smile, but still. There’s a dimple appearing in his left cheek anyways. “A bench in this stupid town is all I’ve got, for now.”

“You wanna know what?”, I ask, “Me too. Sucks, doesn’t it?” I consider it for a second, then just do it and sit down on his right side, leaving a good amount of space between us.

“Kinda”, he agrees, “Kinda really does.” He sits up straight, letting his feet touch the floor again. We don’t say anything afterwards and it’s not as uncomfortable as I would’ve expected it to be. It’s not exactly pleasant either but well, what can one expect?

“Um”, I start after having stared at the street lamp in front of me for a bit, “I’m sorry. For what I said. It wasn’t right, I suppose. So, yeah, sorry.” I don’t look at him during my more or less alright apology.

“It’s okay”, Harry says, surprise in his voice, “I, yeah, I shouldn’t have said those things either. So, I apologize, as well. I suppose this won’t be the last time we fight but maybe we can try to be a bit less, I don’t know, harsh, in the future.” He’s looking down at his hands that are neatly folded in his lap when I turn to look at him.

“Sounds like a deal”, I agree, nudging my shoulder into his a bit harder than intended, then nod towards the corner shop. “So, let’s go grocery shopping and cook some dinner, shall we? Your pasta is shit, anyways.”

~~~

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