Louis & Harry ( a Romeo & Juliet story)

The Fued

The sweet city of fair verona, visitors would say as they mosey through. The calm air, the view of the horizon nestled tightly against the ever turning water. It smelled of sweet grapes and freshly baked bread, tasted like earl grey tea and lavender cake, and looked like a vibrant postcard. But within the city were secrets darker than the pale moon could bring to light. Violence, feuds and quarrels leaving blood stained cobblestone. The sounds of guns being drawn, men shouting, mothers weeping, and all for the sake of pride. You see, Verona was home to many things. Fancy cheese, homemade tomato sauce made from tomatoes freshly picked off the vine that morning, and the most delicious wine that ever passed your lips. But Verona was also home to two seperate families, families of which peace knew no foundation, the Tomlinson's and the Styles. For years people thought the quarrel would come to an end, that peace and understanding could be made, and yet years later each new generation seemed to carry more hate than the next. The street fights got worse, the blood shed seemed more regular, and the tension in the air of fair Verona could be cut with a dull knife.

Right now the Tomlinson boys were gallivanting about, they're usual gear of footballs and sports attire gathered on their backs, ready for a kick around. The streets were quiet, except for the noise of their cleats scraping against the cobblestone. "Oi Lou, sure the Styles boys won't be at the field yeah?" Niall was less of a fighter than the bunch, more likely to listen to the orders of the mayor who had clearly stated after last months brawl that he would be increasing police force in all areas.

"That's our turf and they know it Ni, can't stop us from havin a kick around can they?" Niall ignores the question and in turn begins to chew his bottom lip nervously. The Tomlinson boys consisted of a variety of lads, but only four stuck together in their tight nit posey, Niall, Liam, Stan and Louis. The four went everywhere together, deciding if the Styles boys were gonna try to brawl, they never wanted to be caught without the other three there to back them up. That being said, the Styles group consisted of three main people, Zayn, Nick and Leroy. The other Styles brother was apparently a royal, a prize to the family that sat in his ivory tower, folding laundry and drinking tea, too delicate and important to be involved in everyday life or confrontation. Louis scoffed to himself, a real man defends his family and turf no matter his status.

The field is clear, Niall visibly becomes more comfortable and the boys begin unloading the bags of footballs and mesh jerseys squished inside. Playing footie was about the most natural thing Louis could do, the most comfortable setting for him and the easiest way to clear his head. The ball flows from his foot, a hard kick to Liam who stops it with his foot to do a small dribble before kicking it to Niall. Niall pops it up with a strong foot, showing off his footie skills he does a turn and kicks it hard in Liams direction. "Oi! Watch it Ni, some of us aren't as experienced," Liam jogs to the ball, lightly passing it to Louis as he and Stan wrestle to see who will get to it first. It's proper relaxation time, a way to forget the tension, the constant lurking danger or possibility of having a violent run in with the Styles boys. The ball flies, hands swing, and their laughter can be heard through the hallowed streets, bouncing off the brick buildings and echoing through the small city, maybe a little too much. "Lou, over there," Liam points down the field to a group of boys, trudging their way to them with vigor, it's not just any group of boys, it's the Styles boys. "Can't have one day without those bloody arseholes trying something can we?" Louis huffs, throwing the football over his head and preparing himself mentally and physically. Liam and Niall gather behind him, devilish looks on their face, or at least Niall's attempt at one.

"Havin a little kick around are we boys?" Zayn sneers, kicking a ball that rolled toward his feet. The ball misses Liam's head by an inch and he lunges forward only to be stopped by Louis's hand. A mild attempt to stop a brawl from breaking out immediately. "This is our turf Zayn, kindly excuse yourselves." There's a slight edge in Louis's voice, he brushes a hand over his stubble and watches as Nick throws his head back in a condescending chuckle. "Don't see your name on it, do you boys?" Nick motions his arms to the field, the rest of the boys looking around in fake curiosity. They laugh harmoniously, a dull tension hanging in the air, threatening to rain down on them. As if on cue, gray clouds begin rolling in, the dark sky creating a mask over the rest of the city and the subtle thunder in the distance echoing out onto the open field. Before either of them could reply, a football collides with Zayns foot and ricochets off of Louis's face, the loud smack making Niall and Liam surge forward in retaliation. It's a blur, it always is. Feet are sprinting, hands flying in different directions, mud, dirt, blood. Louis doesn't think, just lets his body react and suddenly he's on the floor, his fist connecting with Zayn's jaw as he pries at the hand clasped around his neck. It's a deafening montage of pain and blood, a scene he's all too familiar with. Everything happens in seconds but it feels like hours before two town police officers are sprinting over and prying the boys off of each other. "Enough! Everybody back up, let me see your hands!" The boys obey, stepping back and placing their hands above their head, all of them spitting the blood that had gathered in their mouth on the floor. The turf now kicked up, yet another part of town they've stained with their blood.

The fight ended as they always do, the boys were hauled away and asked to sit in a holding cell to await punishment. This never lasted long, the Tomlinson's and Styles families were the wealthiest amongst the town, and it's true when they say money can buy you anything. The boy's were bailed out within an hour, with dried blood on their faces and a promise to the mayor that they would keep the fighting to a minimum. It didn't have to be this way, Louis thought to himself, the scenery of the police station feeling all too familiar to him, he didn't go out looking for a fight, but the Styles boys always found a way to start one. He takes a hand to the dried blood forming over a cut on his lip, he could feel his ribs beginning to bruise but is grateful there were no guns pulled this time. They hardly ever pulled guns, carrying them mainly for show and intimidation, but he never put it past Zayn or Nick to one day go too far, to shoot and not be able to take it back. He doesn't think he'd be able to control himself if one of his boys was killed and the thought shakes him to the core.