Louis doesn't know what he's doing. There's a week left until the championship match and here he is, skipping practice. The Manchester scouts will be there. Three weeks ago Louis wouldn't have been able to even comprehend a single person on the team skipping two minutes of practice the week leading up to the match. He'd skin that person alive, quite literally.
He didn't feel good, he told Coach this morning. He's sick, unable to attend. Can't have that, no. Don't want it getting worse before the match.
Louis receives texts from eleven people on the team, asking if he's alright. He feels sick with himself for not pulling through for them. He's their bloody captain. He should be there through thick and thin. He should be strong.
Truth is, he's faltering. He doesn't feel well. Worry eats at him, anxiety rolls over in his stomach, and his heart feels like it's wrenching apart. He put on his jogging shoes this morning and it felt so wrong he had to go take them off. Not moving felt much better.
Existential crises seem to be handed to him on the regular, even though he doesn't deal with them well. Maybe God wants him to learn. By the way, he's done with God. He's done with believing in things. If you do, then you hurt. Fact.
"How's footie going?" Mark asks him over the phone while he's at home during the afternoon. "Can't wait to watch the match. It will be a close one, eh?"
Of course he hasn't told anyone that there's a zero percent chance of him getting into Manchester. They rarely accept more than one player from one school, and the exception is too unusual. It's also Monday and Harry was called on Friday. If they were calling all their choices the previous week, then it's done. Louis isn't getting into Uni and I won't be going anywhere in life. Fact.
"Fine," he answers. Everything is so bloody fine.
"Are you going to be captain? Or Harry?"
Louis wishes he wouldn't mention him, but it's inevitable. "Harry. I was last game. We take turns, so." It's Harry's moment to shine. The people he will be playing for at university will be watching him for the first time in a while, so it fits, Louis supposes.
They talk a bit more about the upcoming game. Louis feels stupid, because it doesn't excite him like it would have a few weeks ago. They end the chat after another ten minutes of talking, Louis stumbling downstairs in sweats and ski socks (because they're comfortable, alright) to bring up some tea to grumble into in his bed.
He stops dead in the entrance to the kitchen, his mother calmly sipping on a cuppa herself.
"You're home," Louis observes, awkwardly still.
"Yes, I am," she says calmly. "You didn't notice me when you walked in an hour earlier than you should from school." She arches a pointed brow. "I also found these this morning." She nods at the table in front of her, specifically at the small packets placed there.
Louis turns beat red. "It¬—"
"Has something to do with all the strange pieces of clothing I've been finding? That don't belong to you?" Louis swallows, no fucking idea of what to say. His mother picks up one of the small packets, clearing her throat, before reading what it says. "Durex. One latex condom. Rainbow colors."
Leave it to his mum to be the most awkward person in the entire world.
"It was a joke," he says weakly. Harry had said something about popsicles...
She looks at him meaningfully, before she waves him forward, holding out her arms. "Want to tell me, darling?"
He nods slowly, and fits himself into her lap, feeling like a five-year-old as he snuggles into her chest. "There's a boy," he mumbles.
"A special boy?" she murmurs back, her cheek pressed to the top of his head.
He nods silently, pressing closer to her, wanting her to wrap him up and hide him.
"Are you skipping practice because of him?" she wonders, and he knows that she knows it's Harry.
It's hard to answer, because it isn't solely because of him. It's a mix of things, but mostly it's football. Football feels symbolic for a lot of disappointing things at the moment.
He shrugs, blinking slowly. "Very tired today." He doesn't have to say more. His mum understands. She sways them back and forth for a moment, keeping her arms around him tightly.
"Mark says you've been talking things out."
Louis nods. "Yeah. We talked."
"He told me how you felt." She pauses for a moment, her swaying stilling. "I didn't know you felt that way." He can't answer, because he doesn't know what to say. "Sweetie," she sighs. "We should have talked about it. We should have explained what was going on. Things were so complicated back then, and must've been much more confusing for you and the girls. I'm so sorry we never talked."
He nods, unable to do much else.
She kisses his cheek, keeping her face snuggled to the side of his. "Do you want a party for your graduation?" she asks.
He squeezes his eyes shut. "No, please," he whispers. "No party." She just nods and starts rocking them side to side again, humming some old lullaby she used to sing when he was a kid. It should be silly, but it's not.
He receives a text from Harry before he goes to bed later that night.
Louis please come to training, don't think the match doesn't matter it matters very much a lot
His stupid way of talking shines through his texts so clearly, and it pricks at Louis how much he's going to miss him when he leaves. He already misses him.
YOU ARE READING
Unbelievers
FanfictionIt's Louis' senior year, and he's dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he's also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy m...
