Hands On Learning

33. heartache

Mr Styles

So much for his quiet afternoon. That parking lot encounter had been an absolute shitshow. Who knows if Shawn would leave him alone. And he didn't even want to think about what Louis thought of all this. He'd seen the emotions flashing across the boy's face and each one pained him. Confusion, fear, anger, then settling into uncertainty and discomfort.

How did everything become such a convoluted mess? The man shut his front door behind him with more force than necessary. He decided a good long boxing session was in order.

Harry quickly changed into a white tee with the sleeves pushed up, black gym shorts, white socks and his neon nikes. He was still seething with anger as he adjusted his gloves and started working on the bag.

Jab, jab. Why was this asshole so obsessed?

He hopped to the left and right, light on his feet. What did he mean when he said 'you're lying?' Was he guessing or did he know something?

Jab, jab, a cross punch with his right hand, duck, followed by an uppercut. Sweat began to gather at his hairline, a few tiny curls escaping from the little bun on top of his head. Had he said something he didn't remember while he was drinking?

He bounced on his feet, wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Jab, jab, then a shoeshine - close to the bag he pummeled it, rapid punches moving almost as fast as his thoughts. Did Louis think he'd hooked up with Shawn? Was everything he'd gone through for his boy now ruined? Was it just another failure?

His movements became faster, going into more advanced combinations. He was fluid and graceful as he bobbed and weaved, striking like a wild animal whose predatory instincts had been triggered. He didn't know what he would have done if Shawn had laid a single finger on his Louis. He didn't want to know.

He kept going until he was exhausted, hugging the bag and catching his breath. He recalled his brave boy, scrutinizing every detail he'd observed. His bright eyes, his sassy mouth. The way his delicate hand had tensed on his duffel bag strap as that wretched Shawn had approached him, how he'd been ready to fight for his daddy.

Mr. Styles had practically seen red when that happened. If he weren't on school grounds, he would have made the jerk wish he'd never come looking for him. Louis was like a fragile flower whose perfection and purity must be protected at all costs. If anyone so much as stepped too close to his little daffodil, well, let's just say they wouldn't be walking for quite some time after that.

He would have never asked Louis to approach such a volatile situation on his behalf. He'd sooner break his own hand than allow Louis to break a single fingernail. He'd put himself through agony, just to prevent Louis from feeling the slightest twinge of discomfort.

What he wouldn't do to have been able to explain the situation to Louis. To tell him that though they were on a break he'd desired no one else, and had lusted only for Louis while they were apart. He'd draw the boy close for an intimate embrace, he'd stroke his hair and kiss his face until every trace of worry had vanished.

He didn't regret his decision to take a step back from Louis while the boy was grounded. It was for the best, he truly believed that. But it was still hard. And he didn't know if and when it would be safe for them to pick up where they left off.

The man tore back the velcro strap on one of his gloves with his teeth, pulling the gloves off and tossing them aside. His neat freak tendencies overtook him of course, so he picked the gloves up and placed them side by side on his end table instead.

He stretched his muscles, their definition bulging as he reached his arms above him and pulled first one elbow behind his neck, then the other. A lot of men didn't value being limber and flexible, but he did. After sitting down to stretch his long legs, his large hands wrapped around his toes and pulling, he took a moment to meditate and empty his mind. God he needed it.