Footie & Frames » stylinson

two

Chapter 2:

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

My feet can't keep still, and my knuckles hurt from twisting at pulling at my fingers nervously. "Harry! Harry, mate. Calm down, yeah? You're kinda givin' me anxiety," Niall insists, setting a hand on my knee to stop it from moving it up and down again like I've been doing since we arrived at the hospital four hours ago.

Niall arrived about the same time we did, but was only admitted in about a hour and a half ago - only being let because he knew me and Lou. Having crazed fans flocking the building and calling out from the lobby and parking lot for both Louis and I was very hectic, and it made it much more difficult for Niall to convince them that he does know us, and he had to show them IDs and all kinds of different proofs until I simply went into the security office and drug his pale Irish butt towards Louis' room, ignoring the protests of the security personnel.

"Shut the freak up," I mutter, ignoring Niall's scoff at me refusing to use profanity. I grumpily pushing my glasses farther up my nose from where they'd fallen down to the tip when a particularly harsh yet silent sob escaped me a few minutes ago when I started thinking about how much pain Louis was in.

He cried! And that is some scary stuff because he never ever cries. Not when he broke his nose by getting a really brutal punched by a rival player after the other team lost. He just swung back at him and the bloke lost a tooth.

Louis didn't cry (but I sure did) when he got a big cut on the bottom of his foot from when I dropped a mason jar on the kitchen floor and didn't warn him of its shattering soon enough. He had to get 20 stitches and about a thousand apologies from me - which he tried to assure me weren't needed.

The only other time I've ever seen him cry was when one of the opposing team members started to take jabs at me, spitting cruel gay jokes and making comments on my glasses and he even shoved me. As he was about to punch me or something other that comes along with threateningly raising one's hand, he was suddenly on the ground, moaning, and I had Louis' arms wrapped tightly around me as he quickly lead me into the locker room. Though my legs are longer, I still had trouble keeping up with how fast he was going. He ended up locking the door behind us before slowly lowering me onto a bench and holding my face in both of his hands, inspecting for damages. After making sure physically and verbally that I was alright, he pulled me into another tight embrace and a sudden cry escaped his lips. I had jumped in shock as he muttered his sorries over and over again, kissing all over my face while tears softly slipped down his cheeks.

"What is taking so long, Niall? Do you think something is wrong? Something is wrong, I can feel it...," I whine, sinking lower down in my chair as Niall suddenly bubbles with laughter and I turn my face towards him, eyebrows furrowing in confusion and offense as he rolls his eyes at me.

"You can tell? With your boyfriend senses? That's rich, Harry!," he doubles over in his seat, holding his stomach as he laughs in my expense, pointing a finger at me that I swat away, pouting at him for making fun of me.

"Soul mates. More than boyfriends," I point out, crossing my arms over my chest as he cools himself down, breathing in and out heavily to sooth his aching stomach and die down his laughing fit.

"More than boyfriends but less than husbands?," he smirks, oblivious to the stab in my chest his innocent jab shoots through my skin.

Biting at my thumbnail, I shrug. "Yeah...," I sigh, sinking lower into the chair and pull out my phone, distracting myself from Niall's heavy breathing by pulling up the Twitter app, logging into my account and scrolling though my buzzing feed. Comment after comment after comment swarming my account. Several thousand people have even taken to spamming my most recent tweet with comments on Louis' current condition - even though my most recent tweet was a twitpicture of bananas.