insecure

this is a oneshot have fun lol

Harry sat quietly at his desk, waiting impatiently for his professor to dismiss them. It was only Tuesday, but he just wanted to get out; wanted to be away from all of these idiots he had to call his classmates. He wanted to be sitting in the bleachers cuddled up in his leather jacket, watching the university's extremely fit football team. But of course, he wouldn't tell anyone that. Instead he twiddled his thumbs lazily and tuned every conversation around him out of his head. And finally, he was released from class.
He strode through the Quad, gripping onto the handles of his solid black backpack. His eyes were trained on his feet and he didn't dare look up, in fear of having to converse or even flash a fake smile at one of these stupid teenagers. His goal was to make it to his Range Rover in the parking garage as painlessly as possible, which meant not making eye contact with a single person. Harry had never been a people person. He found it hard in the past to keep friends, although he wasn't sure why considering he was the nicest boy you'd ever meet. At least that's what he aspired to be. As soon as he thought it was his lucky day, a bloke shouted at him from across the lot.
"Hey mate! You going to the footie game tonight?! Supposed to be a good one!" Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes and continued walking, acting like he didn't hear.
"Hey!" He heard footsteps coming his way, so he stopped and turned towards the high-pitched voice.
"Wha?—" Harry's attitude took a 360 when he realized that the bloke shouting at him happened to be the captain of the football team.
"No need to run. Just trying to get as much support as we can!" He smiled a crooked smile and Harry could've melted right there in the lot. The boy's hands were tightly wrapped around the straps of his white backpack, clearly owned for several years, covered in stains and different colored drawings. He stood before Harry beautifully, rocking from heel to toe in his scuffed red checkered Vans. His black jeans were rolled just above his ankles, accentuating his scripted tattoos.
"Y-yeah. I'll be there for sure," Harry answered tentatively bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck.
"Good!" The bloke was quite smaller than Harry, and his light brown hair was resting perfectly across his face, strays tucked under a black beanie. He gave Harry a silent once over, combing his hair through his thumb and forefinger, and clapped him on the shoulder, "See ya there then!" He gave him a nice squeeze and turned on his heel in a swift motion, walking quickly towards his shiny black Mercedes at the end of the lot. His hips moved in a delicious way that Harry definitely didn't notice.
Holy shit. It's not like he had never talked to a cute boy before, but Louis Tomlinson was a different story. He was the only boy that Harry could ever see himself being with only because he wasn't as dumb as every other knob at uni. He attends every single football game just to watch Louis, and he actually asked him if he was going. And if that didn't make him more excited to go, he wasn't sure what would.

***

Holy shit. Louis didn't know why that boy made him feel the way he did. He totally wasn't his type, but there was something about him that always kept Louis on edge. Maybe it was the way he didn't seem to care about anyone else, but gave his full attention to Louis in that moment. Maybe it was the way Louis could see straight through his sheer black shirt, taking in every single line of ink etched into his chest, hips, and stomach. Maybe it was because he was the only boy in school that wore boots every day of the school year. Or the way his chocolatey curls were perfectly placed around his face. As Louis walked to his Mercedes, he could feel Harry's eyes burning into his back, but he didn't think he could handle turning around. So if he put a little more sass in his step as he was walking away, he pretended it wasn't on purpose.

***

That night, Harry and his older sister Gemma destroyed Harry's room searching for the perfect outfit to wear to the game. Clothes were strewn everywhere and Harry is sure he tried on every item in his closet.
"I think you should go with the tight skinnies that fit your bum," Gemma suggested with a slight smirk forming on her face, "so you can impress that-what's his name-Louis I think it is, that you always talk about."
Harry rolled his eyes dramatically and flopped onto his back on the bed, "I don't always talk about him." He tried to suppress a frown, but he knew Gemma was right. He talked about him all the time; to Gemma, to his mom, to his cat. The boy was just so pretty, how could Harry resist?
"He's just so pretty, Gem." Great. That's definitely what he wanted to say.
Gemma let out a laugh and scooted closer to her brother, "Okay, well then let's make him see how pretty you are at this game tonight!" She carefully moved the wispy curls out of his eyes and placed a light kiss on his forehead before getting up off of the bed. Gemma threw him a pair of black skinny jeans with ripped knees and a thick lavender sweater before walking out of the room with a smile.
Harry walked through his flat about an hour later towards the living room, messing with the black and lavender head wrap that was tightened around his head.
Gemma must've heard him enter because she immediately removed herself from the couch and took her place next to him, "Harry, you look lovely! The lad isn't even going to be able to play footie he'll be so distracted by you!" Harry gave her a small smile, exposing the dimple on his left cheek. Gemma poked her it roughly with her finger and smiled the biggest smile she could manage.
"He'll be all the way down on the field so we'll see how that one goes," Harry glanced down at his black boots nervously, annoyed with the amount of confidence Gemma had in her voice.
"I promise it's going to be fine!" She placed her finger under Harry's chin, forcing him to look up at her. "You're endearing at the least." She gave him her 'good luck' smile and walked him to the door, waving at him as he walked down the stairs.