Sidelines

Part title

Harry resolutely avoids eye contact with any of the heads turning towards him and the bane of his existence.

"We've made it to sectionals by a hair, everyone needs to get their shit together and start acting like a goddamn family before I start cutting people from this team. I don't care how good you are or your position. You will be gone."

He let's them sit with that promise hanging over their heads before continuing.

"That being said, I want to show you all an example of a good team relationship. Any volunteers?" He barely pauses for a second before he flicks his thumb over his shoulder. "Right, Styles, Tommo, get up here."

Both of their heads snap to look at each other, glaring.

"Coach, it's-we get it, it's fine really," Louis says, chuckling almost like he's nervous.

"Now," Cowell demands. Louis' friend and their leading goalie, Zayn, pushes him forward as Niall does the same to Harry.

Harry nearly trips over the bleachers more than once on his way down, tugging his beanie hard over his ears as he shuffles towards Coach. Louis kicks Zayn in the shins as he gets up, standing on the other side of Cowell with a stupid pout on his face.

Harry glowers at his snickering teammates. Even fucking Niall is turning beet red with his lips twisted in an ugly smile as he tries to hold back his laughter.

"Alright, I know you guys are the best of friends but I'd like you to do this for the rest of the team," Cowell says, making the rest of the team snicker. "So I want both of you to compliment each other."

"I hate your trainers. I mean that in the nicest way possible. They're very...yellow," Louis says, arms crossed as he offers a fake close-lipped grin.

"It's really nice of you to blow anyone you find slightly attractive," Harry replies, a sickening sweet smile on his lips.

"Thank you, children, let me remind you this is a college hockey team. Try again," Coach says, completely unamused.

"Your hair looks nice, doesn't look like you just had some guy shoving your face into a pillow while he-"

"Styles that's enough," Cowell booms, cutting Harry off harshly, Harry snapped his mouth shut but Louis seemed to not be quite finished.

"I see you've had your monthly shampooing, so. That's nice, I guess," Louis quips.

"Alright, both of you get your skates on and get on the ice. Liam and Andy, you'll face them," Cowell snaps.

He turns back to the two of them, speaking quietly so only they can hear.

"I want ten goals. You two are a team, and every time you score, you best goddamn look like you're working together, or you start again at zero. I hope you know you're costing and disappointing your entire team with every dirty look you give one another. Sectionals are in a week, and I'll be damned if I can't have you both on the ice because of whatever bullshit unresolved conflict. I'm not asking you to be friends, I'm asking you to fill your fucking spot on this team, or I'll find someone else to do it for you. That includes getting along enough to play the sport. We are getting nowhere in the championship at this rate, and it's because of you two. You are not irreplaceable."

Harry and Louis both look at their feet as they nod in understanding, muttering a 'Yes coach,' before heading to the locker room. Louis huffs exaggeratedly as he strips off his clothes and throws them roughly against the lockers. Harry rolls his eyes at the childish act, pulling off his own clothes and setting them in his locker before getting his gear on.