Sidelines

Part title

"Shut the fuck up," Louis snaps, blowing the smoke harshly into Zayn's face, only making the boy's grin wider.

"You and Styles, huh?" He presses, much to Louis' discontent. "Could hear you two going at it from fucking Philly, I swear-"

"Shut up," Louis hisses, his eyes hard as he glares at his best friend. The prick knows about his stupid fucking crush on the clumsy curly haired boy.

"I'm just playing with you, Tommo, he's dreamy," Zayn snickers.

"I was drunk off my arse that night, do not hold that over me," Louis snarks, he got shitfaced drunk one night and spent fifteen minutes telling Zayn about how dreamy and beautiful and perfect the boy was.

"You're just lucky I overlook all the times I've walked in on you fingering yourself to his yearbook picture," Zayn says, instantly receiving a hard punch to the forearm.

"I hate you," Louis states, crossing his arms over his chest. It's then that Harry stumbles into the living room, heavy bags under his eyes and hair an unruly mess, clutching an empty glass bottle to his chest.

He has a pair of Louis' sweats on, the bottoms stopping just at his ankles instead of pooling around them like they do on Louis. He looks so bloody adorable Louis has to snap his head away before he says something stupid. He always does this thing, where when Harry looks particularly good, he bites out an insult sooner than he can help it, and there's probably some kind of psychological explanation there, but there's a reason he's majoring in the arts.

"What time is it?" Harry asks, rubbing at his eyes adorably. Niall stirs, swatting blindly at the air.

"Late night, huh?" The Irish lad grumbles sleepily, at the same time Louis says, "Time for you to leave."

Harry rolls his eyes and kicks Liam in the side, making him groan.

"Get up, assholes," Harry mutters to the two boys on the floor. Niall rolls onto his back, stretching out ridiculously. Louis fiddles with a string as Harry rounds up his boys and shrugs a zip up hoodie over his bare shoulders.

"See you guys at practice," Liam says with a wave, Niall leaning on him heavily. Louis and Zayn murmur their goodbyes, and Zayn has the decency to wait until the door is closed before he zeros in.

"So was he good? Best orgasm of your life, and all that?" Zayn immediately presses.

"I don't want to-"

"Shut the fuck up and tell me Tommo."

Louis buries his head in his arms and kicks weakly, his mouth curling into a frown.

"He's so fit," He groans pathetically. Zayn pats him on the back and doesn't take the piss out of Louis' misery. Louis loves him for that.

-

Louis' been sort of in and out of everywhere for the majority of his life. He can't stick to anything, places, boys, girls, hobbies, but hockey's something he's managed to hold on to. He has always been the trouble maker, got himself shipped out of England for getting caught one too many times with weed or someone sucking his cock.

In America, things didn't get much better. He spent his final three years of school in some sort of stickler boarding academy, in some snowy northern state he can hardly remember the name of, and the only sports they offered were hockey and American football. And well, Louis couldn't exactly sit around twiddling his thumbs for the minimal remainder of his teenage years.