17 Black

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Today Louis finds out if he has earned a spot on the football team for his third year in a row. Unlike the other tryouts he had experienced, Louis was actually uncertain whether he would make the team or not. Sure, his football skills by themselves were considerably better than average, but with Harry as the new coach, Louis didn't have a guaranteed spot on the team this year. His freshman and sophomore years as a football player for the school were a breeze. The coach loved him, always had him leading warm ups and never started him on the bench. But this year was different, and he wasn't confident that he would get a spot because of his now complicated, and rather awkward, relationship with Coach Styles.

Louis shuffled down the hallway, lugging his books along in his arms and occasionally smiling at one of the rare students at the school that didn't hate him. Louis's situation was different, regarding the fact that half of the school really didn't mind him, and the other half would laugh at his funeral. They only hated him for his homosexuality, which was hard, because Louis couldn't change that. He liked men, big deal. It wasn't like he was going to hit on any of them or something. None of them were even attractive, anyway. The majority of those who resented him were on his football team from previous years. They would push him around in the locker room, call him names, and all that. But lately, they hadn't been doing it as much.

After twisting the dial, Louis crammed all of his textbooks into the endless abyss of overdue papers and forgotten jackets that he called his locker, and dug his football bag out. He had to kick his locker a few times to get it to close before he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed down the hallways, towards the locker room. The corridors were mostly quiet as Louis walked; the majority of the students had left school already. The silence was a bad thing, because it allowed Louis's mind to think freely, touching over subjects that he didn't welcome into his imagination. The image of his coach the day before popped into his head, his big curls artfully styled around his face, lips irresistible and eyes unbearably intense, mouth merely inches from Louis's. Louis remembered it all too well, especially the heart-wrenching feeling of rejection when Harry had so rudely dismissed him right when he had gotten Louis's hopes all up like a child who was promised candy. Then, with a shake of his head, Louis clears his mind from the thought and continues to walk. He can't have those kind of things polluting his mind on a day as important as this one.

Liam beat him to the locker room, and Louis greets him warmly, along with a clap on the back as they walk into the room together, to their usual lockers. Louis changes quickly again, avoiding the disgusted glances from his other teammates. It's like they think he enjoys undressing in front of them just because he's gay. Which is definitely not the case, because every single one of them were totally not Louis's type. Tugging on his socks and shinguards and tying up his laces with a minute to spare, Louis is cutting it close. He bursts out the locker room door and into the field. He smiles to himself as he feels cool rain beginning to sprinkle on his skin. Playing in the rain is his favorite.

The team is formed, again, in a tight line, Coach Styles standing before them, like a conductor before an orchestra, the players waiting for his orders like waiting for their cue. Louis knows he's going to get noticed as he sneaks onto the end of the line, right beside Ryan, who's glare he can feel drilling into the side of his head. Louis is cringing as he keeps his head down, trying to avoid Coach Styles's inevitable scolding. The whole line, including Harry, is silent, and Louis knows that they were all waiting on him. He prepares himself for the worst as he hears Harry call his name, sending child down his body, like the cold rain sliding down the curve of his spine.

"Tomlinson."

Harry is standing right in front of him, now, so he has to look up. And what makes it so much harder is that Harry looks so incredibly hot right then, standing tall over him, the rain dampening the ends of his hair, a curl falling out of its style and over his cheekbone. There's water dripping down his skin, and his eyes are sharp as ever, an intimidating scowl written across his features. So many things are racing through Louis's imagination, a fair amount of them explicit. He knows that Harry can sense his discomfort, and he just wishes to disappear.