17 Black

11•

SUPER SHORT CHAPPIE SORRY. But holy shit are you fucking kidding me I got so many reads recently I'm so excited for this story and I'm so glad you guys love it so much. I decided (at least for now, I'll probably do it later on in the story) that I'm not going to do any Harry's POV writing, but I'll reveal more about his character piece by piece throughout the story in different ways and kind of show you some of his feelings and opinions (*cough* about Louis) and things. HOPE YOU ALL AGREE/ENJOY LOVE YA
-Bella
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It's Thursday already, and Louis can't shake the feeling that the week has blown by too fast. One of the most important games of the season is tomorrow, and he has just barely returned to the game, fresh off an injury. Definitely not a good way to kick things off. Today's his last practice until the big game, so he doesn't have very long to get his mojo back. If he even has any left, that is.

His knee is feeling iffy as of the moment, if he's being truthful. Sometimes he'll just be walking, and it twists at a funny angle and he almost falls in a heap on the floor. But mostly, it's okay. He did a test jog after practice on Wednesday just to see, and so far, the pain of the whole re-break-to-fix-it thing and the two weeks of crutches has proven majorly successful. And maybe Liam's constant insistence to "ice it vigorously" has helped a little, too, even if it is annoying as fuck.

Louis survives the school day, thankfully, with no homework to do. Another plus: he has yet to be beaten up or tossed around this week. Which is good, he thinks. Maybe he's like immune to getting the shit kicked out of him since he's been recently crippled (knock on wood). Ryan might give him the occasional "accidental" shoulder shove in the hallway, but that's better than most he's gotten before. So, hey, he has no complaints.

Isaiah and him walk to the locker room together after school since Liam is making up a test and will be late to practice. Louis does his routine change facing the corner, as not to disturb the heterosexuals in the premises. He bundles up in his Manchester United hoodie, a beanie and gloves, tucking the bottoms of his joggers into his socks. As he steps out onto the field, cold wind and snow biting relentlessly at his cheeks, he curses nature. January has finally decided to rear its ugly head and be a literally, cold bitch this year. Which makes playing football outdoors just that much more enjoyable!

His eyes instantly search for and lock on the broad shouldered man sat on the bench, a habit he often finds himself unconsciously repeating. He refers to it as his Harry-tunnel-vision. He doesn't even know why it exists, though, and he doesn't want it to. It's creepy and wrong. But now, he realizes that he's almost unconsciously walking towards that bench, and plopping down next to his coach, just a reach away from his slumped figure. What is he even thinking? Could he have been any more awkward?

He leans down to fumble with his untied shoelaces, gripping the strings so tight his knuckles go pale. Small, nervous shudders shake through his body just at his and Harry's proximity and he thinks about how he's lucky that it's cold enough outside to disguise it. Neither of them say anything while he does up his cleats, the only noise between them the occasional sniff that Harry makes and the sound of winter jacket material shifting as he pulls on a pair of gloves. Louis is almost done tying his boots, but he just has to take one glance over. He sees Harry sitting quietly, staring out at the field where the players have gathered, shivering even under his fluffy jacket and beanie, gloved hands folded in his lap. His hair curls out from his beanie and licks at his pink cheeks, lips slicked with saliva and as red as cherries, green eyes standing out against the white sky behind him. And that's too much for Louis, really, because what is he supposed to do now? Now that he's found yet another hundred things about Harry that he just can't get over? Now that he realizes there's no way he's going to start feeling any less for his coach, of all people? He can't stop wondering how a person can go from tough and hard to soft and calm like that, how green eyes and a pretty mouth can go from intimidatingly perfect to just downright gorgeous, beauty in its purest form. He can't stop thinking about what would happen if he just found out what those lips felt like against his, discovered how soft that skin was under his fingers. He just can't stop, and it's going to destroy him, surely.