World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

52.0

“The only him that exists for Harry’s eyes is Louis, babe,” Liam makes fun of me.

“Oh, right, the tourist,” he says and I swear of God he looks exactly like that unamused emoji face. You know the one that’s looking to the right? Yeah, that one. Best emoji ever by the way.

“First, I’m the only one who can call him tourist and, second, have you seen him or not?”

“He was with the blonde one a while ago,” Jafar shrugs, “They seemed very close.”

“What?”

“He is lying,” the hottie pops his head out from the car, “He is over there, probably smoking.”

I consider acting surprised but I don’t want him to think that I’m a bad boyfriend or something. I had no idea about the tourist’s smoking habits. How gross. He is definitely going to get grounded tonight.

“Hey,” I call him when I finally spot him, “What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” he stutters as he stuffs his mouth with breath mints. What a sneaky tourist. “I was just… you know, walking around.”

“No, you were smoking,” I raise an eyebrow at him, “The last cigarette you ever smoked by the way.”

“Bossy, huh?” he tries to play cute and sexy just to get away with this.

“No, seriously,” I cut him off, “I’m doing a huge effort with coming out and everything. I don’t want you to die young after all this.”

“Okay,” he pouts, “I was just a bit nervous and they sell cigs here so I couldn’t help it but I promise I’ve been trying to quit and it’s going pretty good so far.”

“You literally smell like an erupting volcano right now. How dare you saying it’s going pretty good?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he smiles to buy me but I act difficult.

“Anyways,” I sigh, “Let’s go over there so I can make this call.”

“Who are you going to call first? Have you decided yet?”

“My mom,” I sigh again, “Can you stop pressuring me?”

“What? I didn’t-”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just overreacting,” I change my mind right away, “I’m kind of... you know, freaking out a bit.”

“I remember how that felt like,” he smiles, “Just take your time. Do it at your own pace.”

“My own pace would be in about,” I check my clock, “95 years.”

“I thought so,” he laughs.

“But this fucking video is rushing things and maybe it’s for the best,” I admit, “I’m feeling confident.”

“I’m right here next to you, bubu,” he squeezes my hand, “Now go ahead before I light another cig.”

“That’s not funny,” I roll my eyes at him before starting the call.

“Harry?” my mom answers from the other side of the line.

“Hey, mom. It’s me,” I say.

“What’s wrong, honey? You sound off,” she knows me so damn much, “It’s everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I hesitate, “Things are going good. How about you?”

“I’m fine. I just miss you. That’s all.”