Harry Styles One Shots

It's Not Always About Winning

A/n// I know absolutely nothing about racing and dirt bikes and all that good stuff, so please bare with me while we enter the world of exaggerated biking! :) enjoy your stay, here's the key.
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How we raced wasn't like how you usually should race if you were a racer. We didn't have race car tracks, and we didn't have race cars. We had dirt roads, and motorcycles. They were more like dirt bikes, but when you try to explain to someone what you do for a living, they don't really know what a 'dirt bike' is.

As I pedaled my way to the garage, I looked around at all of the other racers. Some, I had managed to ally, others I despised.

Like, Harry Styles. I didn't know you're able to cheat in dirt bike racing, but he manages to do it every single time and he hasn't been caught. He's all about winning. Nothing but winning. Him and his partner, Clarissa.

We all have one partner, we share the trophy if we win, we share the money. The reason we have a partner is because it motivates us. Sort of. It motivates some people. If you don't want a partner, you don't have to take one.

It just gives us a sense of strong ability because you can't win unless both partners cross the finish line in the same place. If, let's say, Harry is on first place, and Clarissa is in third, and they both cross the line, they don't win. You can't win unless both you and your partner cross the line and are in the same place.

My eyes landed and the curly headed devil. He was talking to his coach. I had to admit, he was gorgeous. A handsome creature, he wasn't real. He had to be a God of somewhere, sent down to Earth to manipulate females. And he was doing a damn good job at it.

My coach came up to me and explained something about my bike being tweaked, that they changed something in the brakes since it hadn't been working right. I waved him off, not really caring about the small tweak in my bike.

Biggest mistake I've made in the four years of my biking. I just didn't know that yet.

Yet.

Harry walked to me, as I worked on my bike, making sure everything worked for the race in less than 15 minutes.

"Sup, Red." He said, leaning on the pole next to me. He called me Red because of my flaming red hair. I've kept it red for almost six years. I liked the colour and I liked how it complimented my skin tone. "Hi, douche." I said, paying attention to my brakes. I squeezed down on the handle, it being tougher than usual to squeeze. This must be the little tweak Jordan, my coach, was talking about.

"Why so shady?" He asked. "Shut up, Styles. What do you want?" I squinted my eyes as I looked at him. The sum was high in the sky, causing the light to shine on the shiny metal of my bike and into my eyes.

"Just checking up on my... Fellow.. Racer," he smiled. "Go check up on Clarissa. Don't you have a route you need to memorize?"

"What crawled up your ass and died?" He scoffed. "Hm, I wonder. I was perfectly fine before you and your pretty face decided to show up."