Sidelines

Part title

Cowell gives them both a murderous look, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm sick of you two, get changed and go. I want both of you here at 5 tomorrow running bleachers till you either drop or throw up, whatever comes first."

Louis tightens his jaw, nodding curtly and mumbling a, "Got it, Coach," before turning towards the locker room. Out on the ice, no one has resumed the game.

Cowell barks at them to get back to work as Harry storms into the locker room, Louis at his heels.

"Look, I'm not saying this is your fault, but this is really your f-fuck," Louis hisses as he takes a heavy skate to the shin. Harry doesn't even look to see if Louis is bleeding to death or not, which, rude, he could be seriously injured, and continues to throw off his gear angrily.

"Fuck you, dude," Louis mutters, shaking off his helmet. Harry slams his locker door shut and spins around, pushing Louis in the wall harshly and crowding into his space.

"Have you ever seriously thought about therapy?" Louis manages, though his heartbeat is picking up so quickly he can feel it in his ears. Harry bares his teeth at Louis, his face inches from Louis'.

"I hate you." Harry hisses before colliding his mouth with the other boy's. Louis squeaks, unsure what to do with his hands.

The kiss is bruising and wet, Harry's tongue instantly prying open Louis' mouth. Louis grabs onto Harry's arms after another moment of hesitation, working his own tongue between Harry's lips. He slides down the locker he's pressed against minutely, Harry immediately taking advantage of the leverage and tipping his head back forcefully. Louis moves his hands up around Harry's neck, going on his tippy toes to reach Harry better.

It's over even faster than it started. Harry jerks back and Louis feels cold, his eyes cloudy and lips tingling with sensitivity.

Harry drops his arms to his side and backs away from Louis, glaring for a second before walking out of the room. Louis' still trying to catch his breath, trying to collect the pieces of his brain together. He wonders if Harry was still a bit drunk.

"Fuck," Louis sighs, slipping down onto the ground. He can still feel Harry's spit drying on his mouth.

"Fuck," He repeats.

-

Harry ends up going to the campus gym for the next few hours, working out till his whole body burns and he is dripping sweat. He can hardly stand long enough to rinse off in the showers by the time he's done, and that's good, because for once not an ounce of his mind is thinking about Louis. He strolls into the front door of the frat house with his bag over his shoulder and his phone in his hand, scrolling through his Instagram feed. He steps towards the stairs, eyes still glued to the screen. He doesn't look up until someone flicks his snapback off of his head.

"Hey," He whines, turning around and grabbing his hat off the ground, glaring at the Irish lad in front of him. It's then that he notices the gaggle of boys gathered in the foyer, comically solemn expressions set on their faces.

"Harry Styles," Niall says. "This is an intervention."

"What the fuck mate?" Harry shakes his head, giving Niall a tired look.

"It's come to our attention that you strongly dislike Louis Tomlinson," Niall emphasizes, obvious that he's trying very hard not to laugh, though Harry is more than unamused.