Sidelines

Part title

He shuffles into the kitchen to make some coffee and chugs down a bottle of water in the meantime, desperately digging around for a lone cigarette someone may have left. Liam keeps fancy ones in a drawer under the sink, but he's recently moved his hiding place since he found out the boys in the house were picking from his stash. Harry's really not much of a smoker, but he's itching for it right now, and he blames it on the alcohol. When he finally finds one in the silverware drawer he grabs a lighter and lights it up, taking a drag and exhales as he leans against the counter.

The coffee machines does its obnoxious beep thing, and Harry probably bangs around to get a cup more than he realizes, because someone flicks the hallway light on.

"You are so fucking loud Styles honestly," Andy grumbles, only in a pair of boxers. He goes over to Harry and steals the cup out of his hand, taking a sip.

"What could you possibly mean by that?" Harry says, pouting as he makes grabby hands at his coffee and sticks his cigarette back between his lips.

"Means I can hear you moaning about Tommo as you wank every night," Andy replies, keeping the coffee. Harry scoffs, eyes widening in drunken shock.

"I am...disgusted. I think of him when I want my dick to go down," He hisses, like Louis himself might hear him if he talks too loud.

"Whatever mate, thanks for the coffee," Andy nods, shuffling out of the room. Harry huffs and takes a long drag of his cigarette, ashes gathered at the tip almost comically from the neglect. He sighs and drops it into an old, half-full mug left on the counter by one of his brothers before rummaging around for another clean one. He doesn't bother with cream and sugar this time as he dumps the remainder of the coffee into it and stumbles upstairs, chugging it down quickly so he doesn't taste the bitterness going down.

He crawls into bed after stripping down, his head hitting the pillow with a thump. His mattress is lumpy and smells like come, but he's mostly sated anyway. Mostly.

-

Harry walks into the locker room the next day with a slight hangover and a groaning Niall. His bag feels heavier than usual on his shoulder and he's so tired, courtesy of Andy waking him up at arse o'clock by throwing an inflatable sex doll at his bed. He drops his bag onto the ground and begins to strip, only getting his shirt off before Cowell comes in.

"Don't bother, boys. I want you to come out here and sit down. We're gonna have a chat," He says, a firm scowl set on his face. Harry's eyes flare, and he can't help the bad feeling that settles in his stomach at Coach's foul expression. Harry and Niall follow their teammates to where Cowell is, all of them taking a seat in front of their coach. Harry tugs his sleeves over his palms, and taps his sneakers on the floor, mouth slightly dry and the rest of his teammates filter in to sit.

"What makes a team, boys?" Cowell asks, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks over everyone. Harry glares as Louis stumbles in, late, as per usual.

"Tomlinson, nice of you to join us. Would you like to answer my question? What makes a team?" Cowell says, his eyes on Louis.

"Uh," Louis says, looking a bit like a deer caught in the headlights as he slowly lets his bag drop from his shoulder.

"Sportsmanship," Harry butts in with an exaggerated cough. His team snickers. Cowell does not.

"The people on the team, the harmony they have with each other. Your teammates are your family," Cowell states, his mouth set in a disappointed frown as he speaks. "I don't think you guys realize how much I know. It's come to my attention, and not for the first time, that not all of you agree with each other."