Metanoia: A Larry Stylinson Story

The Night We Met

"I've been searching for a trail to follow again
Take me back to the night we met"
{The Night We Met/Lord Huron}

Part I: The Night We Met

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I couldn't stop looking at him as his slender form haunted my kitchen. He lingered there with a confidence that could only lead me to believe that he thought this was his home too. I didn't make a noise when he spoke. I wanted to hear every word that fell from his pink lips; they looked plump and soft.

His curls fell loose in front of his forehead. They seemed to be placed to meticulously yet a mess across his head. It was brown but starting to slightly get lighter streaks from the sun. When he was running outside earlier I could tell that the sun was lightening his hair and darkening his skin resulting in a light burn across his face. It brought out some freckles you could only notice if you looked long enough.

I tried not to let him catch me looking at him because that would be life ruining, no scratch that, the worst thing in the whole world. It was hard not to though. I knew he had his shirt off while he played some football with my brother. They were practicing for tryouts in the fall.

I never was on the same team with them as I was two years older, but this year I would be coaching their high school team. The school contacted me a few weeks ago with the offer and I took it quickly as the pay was great, and it was something I love. It also meant I got to spend more time around him, getting to know him behind just my brother's friend.

Harry Styles.

He was probably my favourite of my brother's friends. Harry was a talented footballer, smart kid, and a truly beautiful boy. As a coach it was my job to know everything about a player, and Harry was no exception. I watched every kick, every juggle, every jog, every win, every loss, every smile... everything. I had to know what makes him tick.

I knew that he was well liked lad. My brother, James, was quite popular at the school and since Harry was his friend, so was he. There was a bit of cockiness between them as most popular seniors have, but not a large amount as I would probably tease them to no end about it. I was nowhere near as popular as James when I graduated two years ago but I was a star footballer.

Was.

I was accepted to Leeds and went for two weeks before I cracked my kneecap; more like when I got my kneecap cracked for me. Some much larger bloke from Manchester came up to me mid game, in quite a rage I may add, and kicked in my knee. The cleats hit my knee in harshly, and everyone could hear the crack loud and clear. It caused some other muscle and nerve damage that resulted in my early retirement.

Luckily, the player was permanently banned from playing at the school or any league for that matter, but the damage was clearly done. I couldn't play the sport I love, and I could barely walk after getting the replacement. I've had to have multiple surgeries since as my knee replacement seems to cause more problems than solutions. One year later and I am still using a cane to walk around most days.

Today was a good day though, and I felt like I could walk pretty independently other than grabbing on to a few counters or walls here and there. I still needed rest though, and watching Harry stand in my kitchen was a good show for my rest. For coaching reasons, obviously.

"You're staring," the couch sank down beside me as Lottie plunked herself beside me. Even though she was eight years younger than me, she was the closest to me of all of my siblings. The sound of her munching down on the cereal that was floating around in her bowl was a bit obnoxious, but so was she right now, "You know you're a bad liar, so let's see what excuse you've scraped up this time?"

"I'm not staring, Lotts," I was plain and a bit harsh. She sat back up, bowl in hand, and scoffed at me as she scooped up another bite of coco puffs.

"Please, I'm a teenage girl... I know staring and you certainly are,"

I just shook my head and laughed at her annoyance. It was nothing more than checking out what kind of guy he was. If he wanted to be team captain then he needed to be a stand up guy too. I was not staring; I was studying.

My palms pressed down on the couch as I prepped myself to stand, not knowing if I could by myself. To my surprise I was standing just fine, and I was having a rare minute of no pain where I felt like my old self again. Moments like this made me hopeful that one day I would be able to get back on the field again, and wouldn't be stuck living with my Mother any longer. I love the woman, but I needed to be independent again, so bad.

Just like usual, the freeness was temporary and suddenly the pain came crashing down worse than ever; my good day was suddenly very over. I let out a sharp wince as the pain shot through my body. I could feel myself falling and before I could hit the ground there were arms wrapped under my armpits.

"Geez Coach, gotta be careful,"

Harry.

He was flashing his perfect smile in my direction, and shaking his head a bit. I stared up at him chuckling a bit before James made it over with my cane. I grabbed it and collected myself. Harry kept one of his large hands on my back as I got my feet planted again.

"Please just call me Louis at the house," I shook my head, "I'm not even your coach yet."

"Well, by next week you will be and a good impression is everything right? Or at least that's what Luke says you says. I know I have been here quite a bit, but I don't think we've really, like, formally met. Harry!" He stuck out the other hand awkwardly for me to shake, and I did.

"Well Luke would be right, and aren't you too young to know Luke? He has to be ancient now. He was captain when I was in year ten, back when..."

"When there wasn't a senior and junior team?"

"Exactly,"

Harry was clearly trying to get on my good side, and it was definitely working. My own studying and outside sources were clearly correct about him. He was kind, quick, intelligent, and an excellent player... he was definitely a clear contender for captain.

I nodded and thanked him before making my way to my room. When I passed the mirror by the hall I saw my cheeks were fire truck red.

Why the hell were my cheeks so red?

I must've been extremely embarrassed of falling because I never got this red. I didn't get this red when I split my pants in my schools talent show in year four, or when Julia McDriver kissed me for the first time, or even when Mum sat me down for "the talk".

I had never gotten so red, until today.